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ELIZABETH  R  CORBETT 


,- 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 
ELIZABETH  F.  GORBETT 


UNIV.  OF  GAL1F.  Lf&RARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


THE 

VANISHED  HELGA 

BY 

ELIZABETH  F.  CORBETT 

AXJTHOB  OP  "CECILY  AND  THE  WIDE  WOELD,"  ETC. 


"0,  wilt  thou  not  let  the  summer  days  be  sweet?" 

— THE  WELL  AT  THB  WORLD7*  END 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 

A 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  George  B.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  FATHER 


2126536 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  JIM  WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  is  AROUSED    .  n 

II.  AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT     ...  28 

III.  A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY      .....  43 

IV.  WELL-LAID  PLANS     .........  60 

V.  THE  GANGING  A-GLEY    .     .     ...     .     .  70 

VI.  THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD      ...     82 

VII.  AND  JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  His  DEPTH     .     93 

VIII.  FAR  OUT  AT  SEA       .     . 108 

IX.  UNCHARTED  WATERS      ...     .     .     .     .117 

X.  JIM  SIGHTS  UNWELCOME  FACTS      .     .     .     .128 

XI.  "THERE  COMES  AN  END  TO  SUMMER"      .     .    137 

XII.  IN  Tow     ...........    147 

XIII.  Rio,  THE  PLACE  is  CALLED 160 

XIV.  VALEDICTORY       . 174 

XV.  JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME  .     .     .183 

XVI.  DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS     .     .     .     .     .     .    198 

XVII.  WAITING 210 

XVIII.  THE  YACHT  HELGA — DESTINATION —       .     .220 

XIX.  OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT 238 

XX.  THE  FLESH-P^'     OF  EGYPT 249 

XXI.  MANNA 259 

XXII.  PRINCE  COPHETUA 268 

XXIII.  THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS       ....    280 

XXIV.  THE  SUNDERING  FLOOD 290 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV.  A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  .......    299 

XXVI.  A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD  AGAIN     .    311 

XXVII.   TIME'S  REVENGES 325 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 


THE  VANISHED   HELGA 


CHAPTER  I 

JIM  WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  is  AROUSED 

THAT  Saturday  in  May  when  he  went  out  to  the 
Evingtons'  for  the  week-end,  Jim  Whittaker  was 
by  way  of  liking  everything.  He  liked  his  time  of  life, 
for  one  thing:  he  had  passed  the  glorious  but  fussy 
period  of  youth  and  had  not  yet  begun  to  settle  into  the 
shadow  of  middle  age.  He  was  a  bachelor,  with  no 
definite  prospect  of  becoming  anything  else,  though  he 
looked  vaguely  forward  to  establishing  a  household  of 
his  own  some  day,  when  freedom  should  have  lost  a  lit- 
tle of  its  sweetness.  Meanwhile  women  troubled  him 
very  little.  He  had  ceased  to  regard  them  as  a  class,  and 
was  beginning  to  think  of  them  as  individuals;  but  none 
of  them  had  as  yet  made  herself  too  individual  for  his 
comfort.  Pending  the  arrival  of  such  a  disturber,  he 
had  ordered  his  life  very  nicely,  dividing  his  time  about 
equally  between  business,  culture,  and  sport,  with  the 
balance  inclining  of  late  rather  toward  culture.  He  con- 
sidered himself  the  most  rational  of  men,  although,  as  he 
was  aware,  the  run  of  opinion  among  his  friends  was 
that  his  head  was  always  a  little  in  the  clouds. 

Jim  liked  his  friends,  however,  even  if  they  were 
mistaken  about  him.  He  particularly  liked  Stuart 
Evington,  his  host  this  week-end,  a  pleasantly  weary 

ii 


12  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

middle-aged  man,  who  by  dint  of  complexity  and  packed 
experience  had  achieved  in  the  end  a  notable  simplicity. 
He  liked  June  Evington,  marriage  to  whom  had  been 
the  final  expression  of  Stuart's  attainment  of  simplicity. 
He  liked  their  spreading  terraced  country  place,  with  its 
glimpses  of  groves  and  water.  He  liked  their  big  old 
house,  vine-grown,  flower  scented,  surrounded  with  trees, 
adequate  for  anything,  yet  quite  unostentatious.  Jim 
would  have  a  place  something  like  that  himself,  if  he 
ever  needed  it. 

Jim's  footing  at  the  Evingtons'  was  quite  that  of 
best  friend:  he  went  there  very  often,  and  most  infor- 
mally. This  time,  however,  he  understood  that  there 
were  to  be  other  guests.  Well,  he  liked  the  house  par- 
ties that  the  Evingtons  made  up :  their  combinations 
seemed  just  to  happen,  yet  you  were  always  sure  of 
meeting  somebody  interesting — and  new. 

Finally,  Jim  liked  leaving  his  little  flat,  and  leaving 
the  big  noisy  city,  and  getting  into  the  open,  and  the 
spring.  For  the  country  Jim  had  that  cultivated  appre- 
ciation which  no  one  but  a  confirmed  city  dweller  ever 
can  have.  Had  he  been  condemned  to  spend  all  his  time 
in  the  country,  he  would  have  died  of  ennui  in  a  month ; 
but  the  country  from  Saturday  night  to  Monday  morn- 
ing was  a  mistress  to  whom  he  gave  himself  with  rap- 
ture. 

He  went  out  by  train  on  this  particular  occasion ;  and 
the  Evingtons'  car  met  him  at  the  station.  Jim  climbed 
in  beside  the  driver.  The  driver,  with  the  privilege 
of  an  old  friend,  at  once  entered  into  conversation.  Jim 
heard  him,  and  even  answered;  but  his  mind  was  not 
solely  occupied  with  the  man's  talk  of  the  season's  new 
cars.  He  was  thinking  how  warm  it  was  for  May,  and 
how  lovely  the  country-side  looked  in  the  late  light,  and 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       13 

how  pleasant  was  the  rush  of  the  air  in  one's  face.  His 
fingers  returned  now  and  again  to  the  book  in  his  pocket 
— he  had  been  reading  in  the  train;  and  remembered 
phrases  floated  in  his  mind,  mingling  with  sensations  of 
the  pleasantness  of  the  moment  and  anticipations  of  his 
bath  and  tea.  He  always  liked  to  arrive  in  his  night's 
sleeping-place  at  the  tea  hour,  which  was  to  his  mind 
quite  the  pleasantest  idlest  hour  of  the  whole  day,  a 
noted  pause  between  the  day's  work  and  the  scarcely 
less  organised  occupations  of  the  evening. 

The  drive  from  the  station  to  the  Evingtons'  was  long- 
ish,  and  Jim  had  time  enough  to  imagine  the  Evingtons' 
terrace  crowded  with  people  at  tea-time.  As  events 
turned,  however,  he  actually  had  tea  alone  with  June. 
She  was  waiting  for  him  beside  the  table,  which  had 
been  laid  at  the  foot  of  a  huge,  distinguished  oak,  known 
in  the  parlance  of  the  Evington  household  as  "the  big 
tree."  It  occurred  to  Jim,  as  he  strolled  out  to  her,  that 
there  was  something  appropriate  in  this  glimpse  of  her. 
She  was  one  of  the  few  people  he  knew  who  could  wait 
without  fretting;  and  her  ever  so  slightly  maturing 
charm  gave  a  quaint  intimacy,  a  delicate  hint  of  the 
ministering  woman,  to  even  such  an  incidental  and  every- 
day act  as  pouring  tea. 

"They've  all  gone  off,"  June  explained  as  he  settled 
himself,  "Stuart  and  the  rest  of  them.  Motoring — some- 
where— in  the  big  car." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  with  them?"  asked  Whittaker. 

"I  don't  care  for  long  motor  rides,"  she  assured  him. 
"And  beside,  as  surely  as  I  went  with  them,  something 
would  happen  here  at  home." 

Jim  laughed,  with  the  universal  masculine  amusement 
at  the  universal  feminine  dread  of  domestic  disaster. 
"Haven't  the  babies  been  well  lately?"  he  asked. 


14  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Oh,  indeed  they  have!"  said  June.  "So  well  that 
they  can't  keep  it  up  much  longer." 

She  joined  in  his  laugh  at  this  particular  pessimism. 
In  spite  of  his  actual  respect  for  June,  she  looked  to 
Jim  just  then  for  all  the  world  like  a  little  girl  playing 
at  being  the  head  of  a  family.  She  was  ridiculously 
pretty  in  her  simple  summer  dress;  and  she  had  one  of 
those  faces  in  which  lies  the  memory  of  every  age  it 
has  passed  through,  the  promise  of  every  age  it  will. 
Jim,  watching  her  now,  could  see  just  how  she  had 
looked  as  a  baby,  round  and  pink-cheeked  like  one  of 
her  own  babies,  and  as  a  school  girl  of  astonishing 
naivete,  and  as  a  young  woman  of  a  particularly  fresh 
loveliness,  like  a  pink  rose  plucked  with  the  dew  upon 
it.  She  had  been  just  at  that  stage  when  she  and  Eving- 
ton  were  married,  and  Jim  met  her  for  the  first  time.  In 
view  of  her  changes  since  and  her  truth  to  type,  it 
required  no  great  stretch  of  imagination  for  Jim  to  see 
her  as  an  old  lady,  very  pretty,  thoroughly  wholesome, 
whom  life  had  not  marred  and  had  only  pleasantly 
taught. 

In  the  fulness  of  his  vision  he  stared  at  her.  As  they 
had  now  finished  their  tea,  they  lacked  even  the  pretence 
of  an  occupation.  With  characteristic  lack  of  self-con- 
sciousness, June  stared  back  at  Jim.  She  was  thinking 
how  handsome  he  looked,  lying  relaxed  in  his  big  chair, 
and  smiling  at  her  rather  sleepily.  He  was  good-tem- 
pered as  well  as  good-looking,  she  knew;  and  she  be- 
lieved him  to  be  tractable.  June  saw  in  him  the  makings 
of  an  excellent  husband,  and  sighed  at  the  thought  that 
such  possibilities  might  go  to  waste.  She  saw,  too,  that 
he  might  make  a  marriage  which  would  put  a  stop  to 
his  intimacy  with  the  Evingtons:  June  liked  him,  and 
wouldn't  wish  to  see  that  happen.  Of  course,  the  only 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       15 

sure  way  to  prevent  it  was  to  marry  him  to  some  nice  girl 
whom  she  and  Stuart  both  liked.  Though  even  in  that 
case  you  never  could  tell ;  and  perhaps  the  best  thing  was 
simply  to  be  glad  that  she  and  Suart  had  a  home  for 
Jim  to  enjoy,  and  that  Jim  did  enjoy  it. 

The  calm  of  the  moment  was  so  great  that  they  had 
assumed  it  must  somehow  be  endless;  and  they  both 
started  at  an  interruption.  One  of  the  Evington  chil- 
dren— they  were  all  so  blonde  and  changed  size  so  fast 
that  in  spite  of  the  frequency  with  which  he  saw  them 
Jim  was  never  quite  sure  which  was  which — one  of  the 
Evington  children  appeared  in  the  veranda,  saw  his 
mother,  and  rushed  across  the  lawn  to  her.  June  ran 
to  meet  him,  and  picked  him  up ;  across  his  fuzzy  flaxen 
head  her  eyes  met  Jim's.  Here  he  had  just  been  thinking 
that  life  wouldn't  teach  much  to  June;  before  her  un- 
conscious smile  over  those  chubby  arms  and  legs  he  felt 
that  June  had  in  her  life  magically  got  to  the  heart  of 
things,  and  that  he  himself  was  no  better  than  an  in- 
expert dabbler  in  back-waters. 

June  put  down  the  child,  and  addressed  Jim.  "Will 
you  come  and  see  the  children  have  their  supper?"  she 
asked. 

It  was  a  regular  event  in  Jim's  visits  at  the  Evingtons' 
to  view  the  nursery  at  one  time  or  another;  but  June 
always  asked  him  to  go  there  as  if  it  were  something 
unheard  of,  and  awaited  his  reply  as  if  there  were  ac- 
tually grave  doubt  what  it  would  be.  Now,  when  he 
said  he  should  be  charmed  to  see  the  children  have  their 
supper,  she  beamed  at  him;  and  holding  the  wandering 
Evington  by  the  hand,  she  led  Jim  upstairs. 

The  baby  had  already  been  put  to  bed;  but  the  other 
children  were  now  set  down  to  supper  in  the  big  day 
nursery.  Jim  and  June  sat  down  with  them.  The  chil- 


16  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

dren  were  delighted  at  the  incursion,  and  also  at  the 
opportunity  for  lengthening  out  the  supper  hour  and  so 
postponing  bed-time.  June  knew  how  to  bring  out  all 
that  was  most  delightful  in  her  children,  anyway;  and 
they  brought  out  all  that  was  most  delightful  in  her. 
Jim  listened  and  laughed,  and  enjoyed  himself  thor- 
oughly; and  all  the  while  there  was  present  in  his  mind 
his  never-dying  wonder  that  his  friend  Stuart's  late  and, 
as  he  himself  had  thought  at  the  time,  rash  marriage, 
should  have  resulted  in  the  production  of  this  idyllic 
charm. 

They  lingered  so  long  in  this  atmosphere  of  sub- 
limified  bread  and  milk  that  a  maid  came  seeking  June, 
with  the  news  that  Mr.  Evington  had  returned,  and 
was  asking  for  her.  June  sped  away  in  answer  to  the 
summons;  and  Jim,  taking  a  more  leisurely  course  to 
his  room,  reflected  that  he  hadn't  even  asked  her  who 
was  to  be  here  this  week-end. 

He  learned,  however,  when  he  came  down  to  dinner; 
for  the  rest  of  the  party  had  all  had  time  to  dress,  and 
were  taking  advantage  of  the  unusual  warmth  of  the 
day  to  view  the  sunset  from  the  terraces.  The  Allen 
Camps  were  there :  a  highly  nice  couple,  related  to  Stuart. 
Stuart  himself  waved  a  hand  to  Jim:  a  thin,  lounging, 
rather  bald  man,  this  Stuart  Evington,  with  eyes  that 
missed  nothing.  June,  who  had  changed  in  a  jiffy, 
smiled  at  Jim  as  if  there  were  between  them  some  deli- 
cious secret  understanding,  and  resumed  her  conversa- 
tion with  Sam  Drummond.  That  left  Jim  to  Jessica 
Drummond,  and  he  strolled  over  to  her  accordingly. 

The  gipsy  Jessica  was  a  diverting  soul;  but  she  and 
her  husband  gravitated  normally  toward  a  swifter  set 
than  the  Evingtons'.  She  had  gone  to  school  with  June, 
however,  and  June  seemed  to  cling  to  her.  It  was  proof 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       17 

of  June's  loyalty  that  the  Drummonds  were  here  now, 
for  she  loathed  Sam  Drummond ;  but  in  spite  of  her  dis- 
like and  of  his  reputation  she  kept  on  asking  him,  be- 
cause Jessica  kept  on  living  with  him. 

Jessica,  in  black  jet  that  glittered  horribly  in  the  sun- 
light, lifted  her  saucy  face  to  Jim's.  ''Have  you  ad- 
mired Stuart's  sunset,"  she  wanted  to  know,  "and 
Stuart's  lion?" 

"I  wasn't  aware  that  there  was  anything  especially 
noteworthy  about  Stuart's  sunset;  the  sun  sets  on  the 
landward  side  of  this  place.  Stuart's  moonrise  is  better 
worth  while.  And  I  didn't  even  know  there  was  a  lion 
here,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  the  wrong  side  of  the  sunset  is  superb !"  Jessica 
assured  him.  "Olive  and  violet,  I  believe  Stuart  sees  in 
it.  But  actually,  haven't  you  met  his  lion?" 

"I  haven't  so  much  as  seen  her,"  asserted  Jim.  "Is  it 
a  lady?" 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"What  does  she  do  beside  let  us  admire  her?"  asked 
Jim. 

"Oh,  she  doesn't  do  anything!  Doing  anything  isn't 
the  point,  with  her." 

"Is  she  so  wealthy  that  simply  her  money  is  enough, 
or  so  beautiful  that  she  exists  merely  to  be  looked  at?" 

"She  has  money,  and  I  believe  she  is  beautiful.  But 
to  be  honest  with  you,"  said  Jessica,  "you  will  have  to 
find  out  from  Stuart  why  she  is  such  a  lion.  I  don't 
know." 

"Where  is  this  personage?"  asked  Jim. 

"Turn  your  head  until  you  look  in  the  direction  in 
which  I  am  looking.  There!"  said  Jessica.  "In  the 
white  dress,  conscientiously  contemplating  the  wrong 
half  of  the  sunset." 


18  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Well,  I  can't  see  much  of  her  at  this  distance,"  Jim 
objected. 

He  had,  to  be  sure,  made  out  a  woman  in  a  white  din- 
ner gown,  standing  with  her  back  toward  him;  and  he 
was  aware  that  Stuart  was  talking  to  her.  But  if  he 
hadn't  just  been  insisting  on  the  points  of  the  compass 
for  Jessica's  benefit,  he  might  have  blamed  the  sun  in 
his  eyes  for  his  own  singular  quick  sensation.  This  was 
a  very  lovely  back,  to  be  sure;  but  in  a  time  when  backs 
are  commonly  as  lovely  as  faces,  and  in  a  country  and 
a  social  class  where  a  considerable  amount  of  loveliness  in 
women  is  taken  for  granted,  it  requires  more  than  a 
lovely  back  to  account  for  a  sudden  crimsoning  of  the 
vision  and  catch  in  the  throat,  even  when  the  affected 
party  is  a  very  young  man ;  and  Jim  Whittaker  was  no 
longer  a  very  young  man. 

"Let's  stroll  over  there/'  suggested  Jessica,  "and  per- 
haps Stuart  will  stop  being  piggish,  and  introduce  you." 

Stuart,  however,  had  remembered  his  duties  as  a  host, 
and  turned  that  instant  to  beckon.  "A  summons,"  said 
Jim  quickly,  and  slipped  his  hand  under  Jessica's  arm. 

"I've  met  the  lady  already,"  she  objected. 

"Then  you  meet  her  again.  Three's  a  crowd,  you 
know,  but  four  can  always  be  divided  into  two  couples," 
said  Jim. 

It  seemed  to  him,  indeed,  that  he  could  never  have 
got  across  that  strip  of  green  lawn  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Jessica.  Yet  the  lady  in  white  hadn't  even  turned  to 
look;  didn't  turn  until  they  were  close  upon  her.  Then 
for  a  second  Jim  held  his  breath,  half  for  fear  that  this 
delicious  agitation  mightn't  continue,  and  half  because 
he  had  seen  lovely  backs  before,  and  been  disappointed  in 
faces. 

But  when  this  particular  lady  did  turn,  Jim  at  once  re- 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED      19 

versed  Jessica's  verdict  on  her  looks.  Hers  was  a  pale 
and  remote  loveliness,  that  suggested  marble  and  lilies 
and  moonlight  nights.  It  suggested  things — perhaps 
that  was  why  it  hadn't  appealed  to  Jessica;  or  perhaps 
Jessica  saw  at  a  glance  where  acceptance  of  that  white 
beauty  would  put  her  own  gipsy  charm. 

The  white  lady  acknowledged  the  introduction  with 
the  politest  and  slightest  of  smiles,  and  the  smallest  in- 
clination of  the  head.  And  just  as  Jim,  fortified  by  her 
coolness,  had  decided  that  her  indubitable  beauty  was 
no  cause  for  agitation,  and  that  now  he  saw  it  face  to 
face  he  wasn't  agitated  any  more — just  at  that  moment 
her  eyes  met  Jim's;  and  her  eyes  were  neither  pale  nor 
remote.  They  were  dark  blue  in  colour;  and  although 
her  hair  was  very  fair  indeed,  her  eyelashes  were  black. 
They  supplied  just  the  accent  necessary  to  make  her 
face  quite  lovely;  but  their  beauty  struck  Jim  less  than 
their  oddity.  "Those  eyes  are  Irish,"  he  thought,  "and 
the  rest  of  her  face  isn't  Irish  at  all.  How  strange!" 

She  was  a  conscious  beauty  at  least  to  this  extent, 
that  she  accepted  his  stare  as  homage;  and  Jim  for  his 
part  could  have  stared  for  hours  and  not  wearied.  But 
a  hand  fell  on  his  arm,  and  June's  voice  said  in  his  ear, 
"You  will  take  Jessica  in  to  dinner,  Jim?  You  can  talk 
to  Miss  Lenox  afterward." 

For  a  moment  Jim  was  disappointed:  he  felt  that  as 
he  and  the  stranger  were  the  only  two  unmarried  people 
present,  June  might  have  put  them  together  at  the 
table.  But  when  he  found  himself  seated  almost  di- 
rectly opposite  Miss  Lenox,  and  realised  that  he  could 
watch  her  all  through  the  meal  without  having  to  talk 
to  her  just  yet,  he  felt  that  after  all  the  strategic  posi- 
tion was  his.  Perhaps  June  had  arranged  it  that  way  on 
purpose. 


20  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

It  was  Jessica's  practice,  when  she  was  with  a  man 
she  liked,  always  to  establish  a  tete-a-tete,  no  matter  how 
small  or  how  congenial  the  gathering.  Jim  had  not  al- 
ways liked  that  tendency ;  but  to-night  he  blessed  it.  He 
had  only  to  answer  "Yes"  and  "No,"  and  to  look  at 
Jessica  feelingly  in  the  pauses;  she  would  do  the  rest. 

Presently  he  heard  her  say,  "I  don't  blame  you;" 
from  her  voice  he  judged  that  she  required  an  answer. 
He  looked  around  at  her;  she  was  watching  him.  "I 
say  I  don't  blame  you,"  she  explained.  "You  have  agreed 
with  me  three  times  when  you  ought  to  have  disagreed. 
But  she  really  is  well  worth  looking  at." 

Jim  flushed  a  little,  but  he  laughed  frankly.  Jessica 
laughed  too.  "If  it  were  anybody  but  you,  Jim,  I'd  be 
angry,"  she  said.  "Because  any  other  man  would  try 
to  wriggle  out  of  it." 

"I  think  I'm  bewitched,"  said  Jim.  "I  stare  and  stare, 
as  if  I  never  saw  a  woman  before.  Who  is  she,  any- 
how?" 

"Stuart  could  tell  you  that  much  better  than  I,"  purred 
Mrs.  Drummond.  "He  always  knows  everybody,  and 
every  last  thing  about  everybody — and  without  seeming 
to  try  to  know." 

"Her  name  is  Lenox?"  asked  Jim. 

"Yes.     Zoe  Lenox,  I  believe." 

She  had  pronounced  both  syllables  in  the  first  name. 
"Then  she  isn't  an  American?"  Jim  hinted. 

"My  dear  Jim,  you  might  flatter  me  by  assuming  that 
I,  although  an  American,  am  educated !  But  as  a  matter 
of  fact  I  think  she  isn't  native  to  this  country." 

"Is  that  all  you  know  about  her  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"All.  I'm  not  Stuart  Evington,  you  know.  But  you 
ought  to  be  satisfied  with  that.  It  would  be  hard  for 
any  story  to  come  up  to  her  appearance,  don't  you  think  ? 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       21 

Better  look  at  her  and  rejoice  in  your  ignorance;  you 
won't  enjoy  her  beauty  half  so  much  when  you  learn 
that  she  is  the  daughter  of  an  English  curate  and  lives 
principally  on  bread  and  butter,  like  any  ordinary 
woman." 

"I'm  to  look  at  her,"  Jim  wanted  to  know,  "and  be 
thankful  that  her  name  is  Zoe?" 

"Oh,  her  name  ought  to  have  been  more  than  that! 
You  see  that  in  knowing  her  name  you  already  know  too 
much.  Her  name  ought  to  be  Galataea,  or  Melisande." 

"Or  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere,"  suggested  Jim. 

"Perhaps  she  can  marry  a  Lord  Vere  de  Vere,  and 
thus  rectify  Nature's  error,  or  Society's,"  suggested 
Jessica.  "There,  you  shuddered  when  I  said  that.  I 
should  advise  you  not  to  make  her  acquaintance,  Jim; 
you  never  could  endure  her  as  human  nature's  daily 
food.  Get  a  nice  picture  of  her,  and  worship  that.  She 
might  be  framed  just  as  she  is,  mightn't  she?" 

They  both  looked  at  Miss  Lenox,  who  had  just  then 
turned  her  head  a  little  to  listen  to  Evington;  one  long, 
firm  hand,  tapering  toward  the  finger-tips,  rested  'on  the 
table.  "A  coiffure  all  her  own,  the  simplest  sort  of  dress, 
and  no  jewels;  and  she  makes  me  look  like  a  country 
shop-girl,  and  June  like  the  shop-keeper's  wife,"  said 
Jessica  in  a  sudden  flare  of  admiration.  "That  isn't 
clothes  or  grooming  or  setting  for  you,  or  prettiness  or 
comeliness:  that's  real  beauty." 

The  fact  that  Jessica  was  sincere  in  her  admiration  of 
another  woman  pleased  Jim.  Jessica  hadn't  that  sort 
of  reputation.  She  was  amusing — everybody  was  willing 
to  grant  that;  and  in  a  decorous  circle  she  could  be  de- 
corously amusing.  But  most  people  held  that  she  was 
a  viperous  creature.  She  had  married  Drummond  be- 
cause he  was  rich,  and  in  spite  of  what  she  knew  about 


22  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

his  personal  character.  She  despised  him  for  having 
been  taken  in  by  her,  and  herself  for  taking  him  in.  It 
was  the  surviving  good  in  her,  Jim  felt,  that  made  her 
cynical.  She  hadn't  lived  up  to  her  standards,  and  she 
couldn't  help  seeing  that  other  people  did  sometimes  live 
up  to  theirs.  She  used  her  cleverness  to  discover  how 
often  they  failed  to  live  up  to  them,  and  found  therein, 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  a  wry  consolation. 

But  she  was  never  at  her  worst  with  Jim.  She  was 
rewarded  now  for  not  having  been  nasty,  by  seeing  him 
drop  the  subject  of  the  lady  across  the  table,  and  set  to 
work  to  amuse  her.  Yes,  it  was  a  reward;  if  rewards 
always  followed  good  deeds  so  promptly,  she  thought,  it 
would  strengthen  the  sprouting  good  in  the  Jessicas  of 
this  world. 

They  talked  of  winter  resorts,  southern  and  northern, 
and  of  sea  bathing  in  Florida  as  opposed  to  winter  sports 
at  Saranac.  Then  they  turned  to  tennis,  and  realised 
that  they  hadn't  played  together  since  last  season.  And 
then  Jessica  launched  into  a  description  of  a  match  she 
had  seen  in  the  south. 

She  felt  cleaner  when  she  talked  like  this,  and  to 
such  a  man.  She  liked  Jim  Whittaker;  as  she  herself 
would  have  said,  he  was  rather  less  a  spoiled  baby  than 
most  of  the  young  men  one  met  about.  She  had  some- 
times gleams  of  a  queer  feeling  in  connection  with  him. 
To  have  kept  oneself  unspotted  from  the  world,  and  then 
to  see  the  eyes  of  such  a  man  warm  to  one's  own — per- 
haps that  would  have  been  worth  the  effort  it  cost.  But 
the  Jim  Whittakers  of  this  world  are  few,  and  they  al- 
ways come  too  late,  after  a  woman  has  taken  a  Drum- 
mond's  money  and  a  Drummond's  self.  Having  taken 
them,  she  would  be  a  fool  not  to  get  what  she  could  out 
of  them.  And  as  to  mere  amusement,  which  Jessica 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       23 

might  not  have  scrupled  to  take  on  her  own  account — 
well,  Jim  wasn't  that  kind  of  man,  and  it  was  earnestly 
to  be  hoped  that  he  never  would  be. 

When  Jessica  rose  at  length,  tennis  was  still  the  topic 
of  her  conversation.  "Do  you  suppose  we  shall  have 
some  to-morrow?"  she  breathed,  her  gipsy  eyes  spark- 
ling into  Jim's.  "If  we  do,  I  engage  you  for  a  set — 
that  is,  of  course,  if  the  goddess  doesn't  play." 

The  after-dinner  pause  never  lasted  long  at  the  Eving- 
tons'.  After  one  cigarette  Jim  was  free  to  stroll  forth 
in  search  of  Miss  Lenox,  if  he  liked.  He  wasn't  quite 
sure  whether  he  liked.  But  as  he  hesitated  one  card- 
table  was  filled,  Jessica  Drummond,  Evington  and  the 
Camps  sitting  down  eagerly  to  the  evening's  game.  That 
left,  apparently,  no  one  for  a  second  table  but  Jim  and 
Mrs.  Evington.  Jim  started  toward  June,  purposing 
at  least  to  talk  to  her. 

But  June  had  heard  sounds  from  the  music-room; 
and  she  seated  herself  with  a  book,  and  every  promise 
of  absorption  in  it.  Her  smile  told  Jim  to  be  a  good 
boy  and  run  along.  Jim  was  a  good  boy;  and  it  was 
but  natural  for  him  to  look  and  see  who  was  playing  the 
piano. 

It  was  Miss  Lenox  who  was  playing;  and  it  was  Drum- 
mond, with  his  seasoned  taste  for  beauty  and  his  abso- 
lute lack  of  hesitation  in  tracking  it,  who  had  followed 
her  first.  He  stood  leaning  on  one  end  of  the  piano,  a 
prematurely  stout  man  whose  bearing  was  a  compound 
of  sensuality  and  swagger.  Jim  felt  a  carnal  desire  to 
eject  him  from  the  room,  or  at  least  to  step  in  between 
him  and  the  woman  he  was  daring  to  look  at. 

His  looking  at  her  didn't  seem  to  disturb  Miss  Lenox ; 
indeed  she  was  apparently  unaware  that  he  was  there  at 
all.  She  glanced  up  when  Jim  came  in,  smiled  and  said, 


24  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Then  she  became  oblivious  of 
him,  too.  Her  playing  absorbed  her. 

Jim  found  himself  wishing  at  first  that  she  would 
stop  playing,  and  let  him  hear  her  voice  again.  It  was 
a  pleasant  English  voice,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  her 
intonation  was  not  quite  English.  He  would  like  to  hear 
it  again,  and  make  sure.  And  then  suddenly  Jim  per- 
ceived that  he  was  spectator  at  a  little  private  comedy. 
Drummond  had  been  trying  to  be  gallant  to  her;  and  if 
Drummond  wasn't  particularly  attractive,  he  was  at  least 
experienced.  But  before  her  indifference  Drummond 
had  already  begun  to  wither  when  Jim  came  in;  and 
the  presence  of  an  audience  farther  embarrassed  him. 
The  pauses  between  his  remarks  grew  longer  and  longer ; 
once  or  twice  he  floundered  helplessly,  like  a  nonplussed 
school-boy.  All  the  time  the  sweet  profile  remained 
turned  toward  him,  the  sweet  music  went  on  and  on.  It 
was  like  trying  to  make  love  to  Saint  Cecilia.  Drum- 
mond gave  up;  and  heedless  of  Jim's  knowledge  of  his 
discomfiture,  he  quit  the  room  in  exceeding  disgust. 

Saint  Cecilia's  blue  eyes  met  Jim's;  across  her  rapt 
face  came  a  smile  that  was  wickedly  human.  "Do  you 
like  Grieg?"  she  asked  unexpectedly. 

"Yes.     Oh,  yes!"  said  Jim. 

"Then  I  will  play  Grieg  to  you,"  she  said.  "I'm  afraid 
Mr.  Drummond  doesn't  like  him  at  all." 

The  music,  however,  lasted  only  a  minute  longer.  Miss 
Lenox  ran  up  and  down  the  piano,  and  then  suddenly 
sprang  to  her  feet.  "I  think  after  all  that  I'm  tired  of 
playing,"  she  said.  "Let's  go  outdoors." 

She  found  a  wrap  in  the  hall ;  and  together  they  slipped 
out  a  side  door,  and  strolled  to  the  terrace  where  he  had 
seen  her  first.  The  rising  moon  made  a  silver  ladder  on 
the  water  far  below  them. 


25 

"Nature  does  very  well  about  here,  sometimes,"  said 
Jim.  "Take  this  moonlight  on  water,  for  instance;  it's 
a  primitive  effect,  but  good." 

She  was  quite  serious,  however.  Resting  her  hands 
on  a  little  stone  parapet,  she  stood  drinking  in  the  pros- 
pect. "Oh,  water  in  any  light!"  she  said.  "Water  it- 
self!" 

He  was  right;  she  had  an  accent.  How  queerly  she 
said  "water."  "Are  you  fond  of  the  water?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  never  long  happy  away  from  it,"  she  said.  She 
turned  her  head  to  ask,  "And  you?" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  he  confessed.  "I  swim, 
of  course;  but  I  don't  know  anything  about  boats." 

"You  don't  care  for  boats?" 

"It  isn't  that  exactly,"  Jim  explained.  "I  happen  never 
to  have  had  much  to  do  with  them.  It's  curious,  too,  be- 
cause I've  gone  in  for  almost  every  other  sort  of  sport, 
at  one  time  or  another." 

"Many  people  seem  to  have  the  same  failing,"  she 
said.  "Here  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evington  own  a  place  on 
a  piece  of  navigable  water,  and  the  only  boat  they 
have  is  one  launch." 

"And  that  is  antiquated,"  said  Jim. 

"You've  been  yachting,  of  course?"  she  asked. 

"I've  lunched  and  dined  and  danced  on  yachts,"  he 
said,  "but  I've  never  been  on  an  extended  cruise.  It  is 
odd,  now  that  you  speak  of  it ;  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  be- 
fore." 

"Perhaps  you  will  take  your  maiden  trip  in  mine, 
then,"  she  said.  "The  Evingtons  have  promised  to  go 
some  time  for  a  cruise  with  me." 

"That  would  be  charming,"  said  Jim  promptly,  and 
added  illogically,  "You  are  a  yacht  owner?" 

"Yes.     Just  at  present  it  happens  that  I  have  a  per- 


26  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

fectly  new  yacht.  I  haven't  made  a  real  cruise  in  her 
myself  yet." 

"A  new  yacht?" 

"She  was  built  to  my  order.  I  planned  her  myself, 
from  stem  to  stern.  She  is  not  only  my  boat;  she's  my 
creation." 

"You  must  have  to  know  a  lot  about  boats,  to  do  that," 
said  Jim. 

"Oh,  I've  always  lived  in  boats;  I  know  more  about 
them  than  about  anything  else." 

"And  now,"  he  sympathised,  "you've  given  yourself 
a  final  luxury — you've  let  your  fancy  run  riot,  your 
knowledge  come  to  a  head,  in  planning  this  one?" 

For  a  moment  the  thought  seemed  to  thrill  her;  then 
her  excitement  died,  and  she  shook  her  head.  "I'm  not 
sure,"  she  said.  "The  Helga  is  a  steam  yacht,  pure  and 
simple,  without  a  trace  of  sail ;  and  I'm  not  sure  I  shan't 
miss  sails." 

"I  thought  all  water  traffic  had  been  carried  on  by 
steam  in  our  lifetime,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  no  indeed!  Not  even  in  America,"  she  assured 
him. 

"To  be  intensely  original,  do  you  like  America?" 
asked  Jim. 

"Yes.    It  is  so  odd,"  she  answered. 

Their  moment's  intimacy,  brought  about  by  the  sub- 
ject of  boats,  had  passed.  She  had  chosen  to  label  her- 
self a  condescending  foreigner;  and  Jim,  as  one  of  the 
odd  Americans,  didn't  care  to  show  any  farther  curiosity. 
It  might  be  the  very  hall-mark  of  oddity  to  ask  questions. 

There  wasn't  much  more  opportunity,  anyway. 
Drummond,  whose  self-confidence  had  been  so  lately 
routed,  recovered  sufficiently  to  come  bustling  out  to 
them,  announcing  that  Mrs.  Evington  wanted  a  second 


WHITTAKER'S  CURIOSITY  IS  AROUSED       27 

table  of  bridge,  if  they  would  be  so  good  as  to  come  in 
now.  Jim  didn't  know  whether  to  hail  Drummond  as 
a  deliverer  or  curse  him  for  an  interfering  fool;  but 
he  certainly  envied  the  fat  man  his  self-confidence. 

Indoors  it  was  Jim's  luck  to  cut  in  at  the  table  that 
had  been  formed  earlier  in  the  evening;  and  the  fall  of 
the  cards  gave  Miss  Lencx  to  Drummond  for  a  partner 
at  the  other  table.  Her  eye  caught  Jim's  after  she  was 
seated;  and  if  she  didn't  smile  at  him  again,  she  might 
just  as  well  have.  It  struck  him  then  that  her  accent 
matched  her  eyes;  perhaps  she  had  derived  eyes  and  ac- 
cent from  one  parent,  and  the  beauty  that  required  ac- 
centing from  the  other.  Jim  shuffled  and  cut.  "Are 
you  going  to  be  in  town  late  this  spring,  Camp?"  he 
asked. 


CHAPTER  II 
AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT 

WHEN  the  party  broke  up  for  the  night  Stuart 
Evington  found  opportunity  to  say  to  Whittaker, 
"You'll  come  in  for  a  little  while  to-night,  Jimmie?" 

Jim  nodded.  The  long  late  talk  with  Stuart  was  as 
much  a  feature  of  his  stays  at  the  Evingtons'  as  the  visit 
to  the  nursery  with  June,  and  as  clear  a  mark  of  how 
they  set  him  apart  from  their  other  guests.  Stuart  was 
one  of  those  who  talk  best  late  at  night;  and  many  and 
many  a  time,  even  in  his  bachelor  days,  he  and  Jim 
had  seen  the  dawn  over  their  pipes.  June  had  never 
attempted  to  alter  her  husband's  arrangement  of  his  day : 
when  she  got  him,  she  explained,  he  was  too  old  to 
change. 

Jim  got  into  his  smoking  coat  and  slippers,  and  stifled 
a  yawn.  Then  quite  without  excuse  he  began  to  smile, 
and  abruptly  changed  the  smile  to  a  frown.  He  was 
not  in  a  normal  frame  of  mind  to-night.  It  would  be 
easy  for  him  to  slip  into  an  infatuation  for  the  woman 
he  had  just  met;  and  such  an  infatuation  would  fit  the 
least  in  the  world  into  his  pleasant  orderly  life.  He 
shivered  at  the  thought  of  what  such  a  woman  might  do 
to  a  man. 

But  a  moment  later  he  was  wishing  that  she  might 
do  her  worst,  and  thereby  find  out  that  her  worst  wasn't 
very  bad.  This  was  Saturday  night,  and  Monday  morn- 
ing he  was  due  back  in  town.  Probably  he  and  the 

28 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      29 

woman  would  never  see  each  other  again:  she  would 
go  off  cruising,  and  be  drowned  or  captured  by  pirates; 
and  he  would  let  all  his  years  slip  uneventfully  along, 
and  perhaps  waken  some  morning  to  find  that  life  had 
passed  him  by. 

Let  her  do  what  she  could,  if  she  could  do  anything. 
She  had  beauty,  of  course;  but  perhaps  it  was  only  his 
imagination  that  endowed  her  with  significance.  Beauty 
— and  seamanship.  He  grinned  at  the  idea  of  falling  in 
love  with  her  seamanship;  and  then  suddenly  wished 
that  he  could  have  her  to  himself  for  a  day  against  the 
background  of  the  sea.  The  sea — he  knew  it  as  one 
does  from  crossing  in  liners  and  reading  of  it  in  books; 
perhaps  it  was  for  some  interpretation  of  the  sea  that 
he  longed  to  know  her.  Or  perhaps  the  sea  would  in- 
terpret her.  "I  am  never  long  happy  away  from  the 
water,"  she  had  said.  Then  to  see  her  on  water  would 
be  to  see  her  happy ;  and  to  see  her  happy  would  be  worth 
while.  In  spite  of  her  calm,  she  didn't  look  as  if  she 
were  made  for  happiness.  Could  happiness  ever  come  to 
such  a  nature  ?  Or  had  he  actually  any  slightest  clue  as 
to  what  her  nature  really  was? 

With  a  start  Jim  came  to  himself,  and  realised  that 
he  had  stood  mooning  there  for  half  an  hour.  He  would 
be  lucky  if  Stuart  hadn't  given  him  up  and  gone  to  bed. 
Rather  feverishly  Jim  hoped  he  hadn't ;  he  felt  a  sudden 
desire  for  company,  cool  reasonable  company — mas- 
culine company,  in  short. 

There  was  a  light,  however,  in  Stuart's  little  study, 
which  was  separated  from  June's  room  by  another,  so 
that  she  wasn't  ever  disturbed  by  what  went  on  there. 
A  little  fire  burned  in  the  grate;  and  Stuart,  in  shabby 
smoking-coat  and  dilapidated  mocassins,  was  established 
before  it  with  a  book  and  pipe,  as  if  the  hour  were  nine 


30  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

in  the  evening  instead  of  half-past  one.  He  laid  down 
the  book  at  once,  and  motioned  toward  the  tobacco. 
"  'Self  at  home,"  he  said.  "I  was  thinking  you  had  for- 
gotten me." 

Jim  found  his  own  pipe  on  the  table,  and  lighted  it. 
He  looked  about  the  dim  room,  recognising  a  dozen 
things  he  had  known  always,  it  seemed  to  him ;  he  looked 
at  Stuart,  growing  a  little  bald  with  the  years,  but  weary, 
kindly,  intelligent,  just  as  he  always  had  been.  Of  a 
sudden  Jim  was  deeply  grateful  for  the  familiarity  of 
things. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  be  in  bed  yet,"  he  answered  his 
friend's  remark.  Then  mingling  this  train  of  thought 
with  his  own,  he  brought  out,  "I  have  known  you  and 
your  bad  habits  too  long,  Stuart.  Marriage  doesn't 
interfere  much  with  a  man's  bad  habits,  does  it?" 

"Oh,  indeed  it  does!  It  interferes  abominably.  It 
has  interfered  with  all  mine  except  night-hawking.  June 
is  such  a  sleepy-head  that  I'm  ready  at  my  worst  to  get 
up  when  she  does,  or  I  suppose  it  would  have  interfered 
with  this,  too."  Stuart  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  eyed  Jim. 
"Thinking  of  trying  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Not  for  a  good  many  years  yet,"  said  Jim.  His  own 
confident  tone  pleased  him. 

"Well,  there  are  some  things  to  be  said  in  favour  of 
early  marriages,"  Evington  remarked.  "Not  that  yours 
would  be  so  awfully  early,  Jim,  even  if  you  made  haste 
now." 

"It  will  be  awfully  late,  unless  I  do.  But  it  isn't  a 
question  of  ages,"  responded  Jim.  "I  haven't  yet  found 
my  June." 

"Oh,  there  are  plenty  of  Junes!'  asserted  June's  hus- 
band. "June  is  nothing  but  a  natural  unspoiled  woman ; 
and  unspoiled  women  are  still  fairly  common,  in  spite 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      31 

of  what  we  read  in  the  papers  and  hear  from  pulpits. 
I  could  have  picked  a  dozen  as  good  in  every  way  as 
June.  But  one  doesn't — here's  a  point  for  your  side 
of  the  argument — one  doesn't,  you  know,  actually  pick 
at  all." 

"One  falls  in  love?"  Jim  suggested. 

"That  is,  I  believe,  the  vulgar  expression.  And  you're 
not  to  understand  me  as  implying  that  one's  own  par- 
ticular June  isn't  in  actual  practice  a  sufficient  motive 
even  for  marriage." 

"Not  all  particular  Junes  are  as  satisfying  as  yours, 
even  if  she  could  be  so  easily  replaced "  Jim  began. 

"I  never  said  she  could  be  replaced,"  Evington  inter- 
rupted parenthetically. 

"For  instance,"  Jim  went  on,- "if  I  wanted  to  gossip 
about  your  guests,  I  could  say  that  right  here  under  your 
roof  are  particular  Junes  less  satisfying  than  yours." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  answered  Evington 
promptly.  "Allen  Camp  finds  his  perfect;  the  Camps 
may  bore  you,  but  they  satisfy  each  other.  They  are 
fervent  advocates  of  matrimony — fervent:  I  think  they 
regard  themselves  as  the  chief  props  of  the  institution. 
As  for  Jessica  Drummond,  she  married  for  money, 
and  got  it.  June,  I  know,  thinks  that  she  isn't  con- 
tented with  her  bargain;  but  perhaps  June  reads  too 
much  of  herself  into  Jessica.  I  dare  say  Jessica  is  as 
cheerful  as  most  of  us." 

"She's  cheerful  enough.  I  suppose  when  you  have 
spoiled  your  life  it's  best  to  think  as  little  as  possible 
about  that."  Jim  reached  for  the  tobacco.  "But  it's 
only  lately,  Stuart,  that  you've  come  to  believe  in  uni- 
versal wedded  bliss." 

"Oh,  I  don't  go  so  far  as  that/'  asserted  Evington. 


32  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Indeed,  my  belief  would  halt  under  this  roof,  though 
not  on  the  Drummonds." 

"Miss  Lenox  would  give  you  pause?"  asked  Jim. 

"She  would.  She's  a  breath-taker,  if  you  like;  a 
world's  wonder,  if  you're  young  enough;  a  woman  to 
go  mad  about  and  blow  your  brains  out,  if  that's  your 
idea  of  a  fitting  tribute  to  beauty.  But  as  a  fireside 
companion  I  simply  can't  imagine  her." 

"I  can  imagine  breakers  ahead  for  her  husband,"  said 
Jim,  "but  I  supposed  you  would  be  just  the  man  to  want 
to  equip  her  with  such  an  article.  On  the  contrary,  you 
would  advise  men  to  steer  clear  of  her?" 

"By  no  means.  I  should  say  that  to  fall  in  love  with 
her  might  be  very  educational,  so  long  as  you  didn't  fall 
too  far.  If  I  were  young  again,  I  shouldn't  mind  hav- 
ing a  try  at  her  myself — she's  so  deliciously  cold- 
blooded." 

"In  other  words,"  said  Jim,  "flirt,  but  don't  fall  in 
love?" 

"If  it's  for  yourself  you  are  asking,  don't  do  either," 
said  Evington  promptly.  "But  our  hypothetical  young 
man  could,  I  think,  learn  something  from  that  aggrega- 
tion of  ice." 

"You  insist  that  she's  cold?"  asked  Jim.  "Aren't  you 
making  a  common  mistake,  and  attributing  northern 
qualities  to  her  because  of  her  northern  blondeness?" 

"Perhaps  cold  isn't  the  word.  Perhaps  what  I  mean 
is  that  she's  a  creature  of  negations,"  mused  Eving- 
ton. "Either  would  be  odd,  you  know:  negativeness 
from  a  descent  like  hers,  or  coldness  from  the  South 
Pacific  Ocean." 

"You  imply  that  she  has  a  story,"  said  Jim. 

"She  has,"  assented  Evington. 

That  was  what  Jim  had  come  to  hear;  and  knowing 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      33 

Stuart,  he  knew  that  the  story  trembled  on  the  older 
man's  lips.  Jim  settled  himself  in  his  chair;  he  hoped 
that  the  story  would  last  till  dawn. 

Evington  threw  his  head  back,  and  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  ceiling;  he  seemed  to  watch  the  play  of  light  there, 
firelight  and  lamplight,  one  ever  changing,  the  other  so 
constant  of  itself,  but  drawn  into  motion  by  its  com- 
panion. When  he  began  to  speak,  his  voice  was  not 
keyed  as  for  ordinary  conversation:  he  had  fallen  into 
his  narrative  mood. 

"Her  father  was  Dan  Lenox,"  the  narrative  voice 
told  Jim.  "He  was  an  Irishman  by  birth,  hard-drinking, 
hard-hitting,  so  taciturn  as  to  be  almost  speechless.  In- 
cidentally, he  was  a  very  handsome  man,  in  a  threaten- 
ing way,  like  a  volcano  always  on  the  eve  of  eruption. 
Eruptions  were  not  infrequent  with  him,  too. 

"He  quarrelled  with  all  his  relatives,  and  got,  I  be- 
lieve, into  bad  odour  with  the  authorities.  At  any  rate, 
he  left  Europe  suddenly,  and  went  to  the  Far  East. 
There,  instead  of  going  directly  to  the  dogs,  as  any  one 
might  have  prophesied  that  he  would,  he  began  almost 
at  once  to  show  what  was  in  him. 

"Dan  Lenox  had  a  most  unusual  mind  for  an  Irish- 
man, organising  instead  of  destructive.  Perhaps  that's 
why  he  wasn't  popular  at  home.  Maybe  Europe  was 
too  highly  organised  to  suit  him,  anyway,  there  at  the 
beginning.  But  in  the  East  he  got  into  traffic  and  mer- 
chandising, and  prospered  exceedingly.  He  could  con- 
ciliate a  native  Rajah,  bribe  the  representative  of  a  Euro- 
pean power,  sail  a  boat  or  get  drunk  with  the  captain, 
show  a  roustabout  how  to  work  or  knock  him  down,  all 
with  the  same  ease  and  authority.  But  chiefly,  he  could 
organise  all  things  and  people  so  that  they  worked  to- 
gether for  Dan  Lenox's  good. 


34  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

He  spent  money  like  water,  not  only  to  back  his 
projects,  but  on  huge  debauches,  yet  money  came  in 
faster  than  he  could  spend  it.  And  his  fame  spread  and 
spread." 

"Hasn't  he  ever  been  written  about?"  asked  Jim. 

"He  was  later  on.  Not  in  America,  perhaps,  though 
I  rather  think  he  was  here,  too.  You  may  have  heard 
his  name  a  dozen  times  without  remembering  it — no 
associations,  you  know.  Yes,  he  had  his  share  of  fame, 
even  written-down  fame.  He  had  his  share  of  every- 
thing, old  Dan  Lenox  did." 

Evington  was  silent  for  a  moment,  seeming  to  trace 
on  the  ceiling  some  of  those  mighty  scenes  in  which 
old  Dan  Lenox  had  had  such  a  share.  The  light  on  the 
ceiling  was  steadier  now,  for  the  fire  had  died  down  to 
a  bed  of  red  coals.  All  about  them  Jim  could  feel  the 
sleeping  stillness  of  the  house;  and  he  was  almost  star- 
tled when  with  a  quick-drawn  breath  Evington  resumed 
his  story. 

"Lenox  was  a  middle-aged  man  when  he  met  Helga. 
I  don't  know  what  her  last  name  was,  and  I  don't  think 
Dan  himself  did.  I  know  he  wasn't  aware  what  par- 
ticular variety  of  Scandinavian  she  was — perhaps  to  an 
Irishman  they  were  all  the  same  anyhow.  You  under- 
stand I  never  saw  Helga,  and  all  the  details  about  her 
are  vague.  She  would  seem  like  a  lovely  shadow,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Lenox's  love,  which  itself  gave  her  a 
certain  substance. 

"She  needed  something  like  that,  for  she  had  had 
the  devil  of  a  life.  Married  to  a  man  who  abused  her, 
she  ran  away  from  him  with  a  lover  who  left  her,  all 
those  thousands  of  miles  away  from  home.  Heaven 
knows  what  would  have  become  of  her  if  Dan  hadn't 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      35 

found  her;  but  perhaps  Fate  owed  her  one  kindness  be- 
fore she  died.  Well,  she  had  landed  right  at  last. 

"Perhaps  you  can  imagine  how  a  man  of  Dan  Lenox's 
nature  could  love.  And  it  must  have  given  the  final 
cruel  refinement  to  his  passion  to  know  that  it  couldn't 
endure  very  long.  Helga  was  already  pretty  far  gone 
in  consumption  when  he  met  her.  His  love  was  a  refuge 
for  her;  I  don't  know  that  she  had  life  enough  to  return 
it.  But  perhaps  she  did.  I  don't  know  much  about  her, 
you  see.  A  faint,  pale  figure,  Helga,  living,  when  I 
came  to  learn  the  story,  only  in  the  fastnesses  of  Dan 
Lenox's  memory. 

"They  were  married  very  soon  after  they  met ;  or  per- 
haps they  weren't  ever  married.  She  may  not  have  been 
legally  free;  and  the  ceremony  isn't  a  thing  that  Dan 
Lenox  would  ever  have  considered  important.  At  any 
rate,  they  went  off  honeymooning  on  one  of  his  ships. 
Sailing  agreed  with  Helga,  and  they  continued  to  sail. 
They  must  have  been  a  ghastly  ship-load.  So  much  of 
the  time  she  couldn't  talk,  and  he  never  had.  But  I  dare 
say  he  made  her  happy  in  a  wan  way;  if  he  didn't,  it 
wasn't  for  lack  of  loving  her. 

"Their  daughter  was  actually  born  at  sea;  and  when 
she  was  just  big  enough  to  toddle,  Helga  had  one  last 
hemorrhage,  and  died. 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  Dan  Lenox  was  a  man  to 
care  much  about  little  children;  I  suppose  he  didn't  in 
general.  But  this  was  his  child.  Paternity  gripped  him 
as  hard  as  had  love.  He  adored  that  mite,  though  he 
was  never  soft  with  her.  I  suppose  his  manner  toward 
her  was  always  what  June  would  have  called  harsh; 
but  I  think  Zoe  understood  from  the  beginning 

"Zoe  grew  up  under  his  eye.  As  he  couldn't  leave  his 
trade  yet,  or  thought  he  couldn't,  that  meant  growing 


36  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

up  in  ships  and  strange  sea-ports.  He  couldn't  be  sepa- 
rated from  her ;  that  was  out  of  the  question.  She  must 
have  had  an  odd  youth ;  and  as  a  result  she  knows  more 
outlandish  dialects  than  any  other  woman  in  civilised 
society,  I  suppose. 

"She  was  as  attached  to  her  father,  I  think,  as  he  to 
her.  She  was  the  only  being  now  on  earth  that  he 
cared  about — and  also  the  one  person  he  knew  who 
wasn't  a  little  afraid  of  him.  And  he's  the  only  soul  liv- 
ing or  dead  who  ever  warmed  her  icy  little  heart — thanks 
to  the  fact  that  I've  never  been  in  a  position  to  try." 

Evington  poured  a  little  water  from  a  patent  bottle 
at  his  elbow,  and  drank  it.  Jim  Whittaker  followed 
his  example:  these  late  sessions  of  theirs  were  always 
highly  temperate,  for  even  mild  intoxicants  have  a  tend- 
ency at  last  to  obscure  conversation. 

"When  Zoe  was  a  grown  girl,"  Stuart  resumed,  "Dan 
Lenox  closed  up  his  interests  in  the  East  and  took  her 
to  Europe.  It  was  there  that  I  happened  to  meet  them. 
They  were  a  strange  couple,  as  you  may  believe,  though 
not  in  the  least  ridiculous.  Dan  Lenox  wasn't  one  of 
those  rough  diamonds  who  eat  with  their  knives ;  indeed, 
I  think  he  came  originally  of  very  decent  people.  He 
was  simply  a  strong  man,  and  he  showed  it.  That  was 
what  all  those  years  in  the  East  had  done  for  him;  his 
oddity  was  just  that  he  was  so  strongly  charactered. 
Against  the  background  of  average  people  in  a  hotel,  he 
and  Zoe  stood  out,  I  can  tell  you.  Even  the  girl,  young 
as  she  was,  was  perfectly  self-possessed,  with  all  Europe 
coming  at  her  head. 

"I  lost  no  time  in  getting  acquainted.  June  and 
I  were  on  our  honeymoon.  We  had  been  for  some 
time;  and  we  were  beginning  to  be  bored,  though 
we  were  too  newly  married  to  admit  it.  June  showed 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT       37 

Zoe  lots  of  little  things  about  clothes;  and  I  think 
Zoe  was  grateful  for  the  assistance,  though  she 
never  thanked  her.  June  admired  the  girl's  beauty,  and 
was  more  than  half  afraid  of  her  silence  and  strange- 
ness. Her  bringing-up  had  left  traces,  of  course.  She 
had,  for  example,  an  old  Malay  woman  who  acted  as  a 
sort  of  maid  to  her ;  perhaps  she  was  more  a  companion 
and  familiar  spirit  than  a  maid,  at  that.  Well,  June 
tried  to  get  Zoe  to  have  a  competent  Frenchwoman  in- 
stead. Zoe  wouldn't  hear  of  it;  and  the  old  creature 
refuted  all  objections  except  those  raised  to  her  per- 
sonality by  becoming  as  good  a  maid  as  the  best  of  them. 
Imagine  the  daughter  of  a  native  Rajah — or  more  likely 
the  daughter  of  a  pirate  or  a  common  boatman — learning 
to  manicure  and  massage  as  well  as  the  Frenchest  of 
them!  Zoe  has  the  old  witch  still;  she  must  always 
sleep  in  the  room  next  to  her  mistress,  and  have  her 
meals  brought  to  her  on  a  tray.  She  still  gives  June  the 
horrors. 

"Dan  Lenox  and  I  got  quite  chummy;  I  suppose  that 
like  Zoe  he  was  glad  of  any  company.  He  wasn't  com- 
municative at  first.  But  he  got  drunk  one  night,  and 
told  me  about  his  love  affair  and  his  child.  Drink 
loosened  that  stiff  tongue  of  his,  but  it  didn't  impair  his 
dignity.  I  never  saw  anything  more  tremendous  than 
the  old  man  sitting  up  behind  the  empty  bottles — he 
wouldn't  let  the  waiters  take  any  of  them  away — and 
calling  up  in  his  short  gruff  sentences  the  shade  of  the 
vanished  Helga. 

"We  left  Paris  the  next  month;  and  I  never  saw  him 
again.  I  wish  I  had  been  there  for  a  few  years,"  Eving- 
ton  mused,  "I  should  have  liked  to  watch  Dan  Lenox 
discovering  Europe.  Discover  Europe  he  did,  and  he 
entered  the  world  of  European  finance.  I  suppose  Euro- 


38  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

pean  finance  expected  to  get  the  better  of  him;  but  if  so, 
it  was  mistaken.  He  kept  his  Midas  touch;  he  dupli- 
cated his  South  Sea  success.  I  love  the  idea  of  his 
starting  in  at  his  age  to  find  new  worlds  to  conquer,  and 
conquering  them.  He  ought  to  have  been  an  American, 
though — he  ought  to  have  been  an  American. 

"I  can't  say  that  he  amassed  money,  however,  during 
those  last  years  of  his  life.  The  opportunities  for  spend- 
ing were  too  great.  He  developed  a  fine  taste  in  pictures, 
and  a  pleasant  mania  for  houses.  The  collection  he  left 
to  the  South  Kensington  was  a  joy;  and  I  suppose  that 
my  lady  has  establishments  in  a  dozen  of  the  world's 
most  picturesque  spots.  And  of  course  he  had  always 
a  ship,  or  five  or  six  ships.  Those  Zoe  hasn't,  though. 
With  native  extravagance  she  has  scrapped  them  all,  and 
built  one  to  suit  herself." 

"So  she  told  me,"  said  Jim.  "The  Helga,  she  said 
it  was  called;  I  didn't  of  course  get  the  significance  of 
the  name  then." 

"Yes,  The  Helga.  Dan  Lenox  had,  I  think,  never 
named  a  boat  after  his  wife,  living  or  dead.  He  had 
all  sorts  of  reserves  and  hesitancies,  that  steaming  high- 
handed man.  So  has  Zoe,  but  not  the  same  ones. 

"Well,  in  course  of  time  Dan  Lenox  died.  Up  to 
that  moment  Zoe  had  been  having  a  gay  time.  With 
her  beauty  and  her  money,  you  may  imagine  that  coro- 
nets were  laid  at  her  feet :  even  a  crown,  they  say.  But 
she  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  to  accept  any  of  them. 
She  isn't  calculating,  and  she  hasn't  any  heart  for  a  man 
to  touch.  That  makes  her  interesting,  though  the 
spurned  Grand  Dukes  probably  didn't  feel  so  about  it. 

"Her  father's  death  was  the  only  thing  that  could 
come  near  to  overwhelming  Zoe.  Off  she  went  to  sea, 
and  stayed  for  two  years,  severing  all  her  connections, 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      39 

brooding  over  her  loss.  Then  of  a  sudden  I  suppose 
she  wojce  to  her  own  independence  and  power;  and  at 
the  same  time  she  discovered  America.  The  Lenox  pas- 
sion for  discovering,  you  see.  In  that  state  of  mind, 
just  returning  to  normal  after  a  mighty  blow,  a  new 
country  of  course  fascinated  her.  Mountains,  rivers, 
lakes  and  cities:  she  tried  to  absorb  the  whole  country. 
And  she  had  her  new  yacht  built  here,  because  she  wanted 
to  oversee  its  construction,  and  she  didn't  want  to  leave 
America. 

"We  encountered  her  one  afternoon  in  Fifth  Avenue. 
June  and  I  were  shopping,  and  were  on  foot;  we  heard 
ourselves  hailed  from  a  motor.  There  was  Zoe,  wrapped 
in  sables  worth  a  fortune,  and  looking  like  a  Grand 
Duchess  or  a  prima  donna  or  something.  But  when  you 
got  below  the  sables  she  was  almost  laughably  the  same 
that  she  had  been  years  before.  Neither  the  passage 
of  time  nor  her  very  real  grief  over  her  father's  death 
had  made  any  actual  difference  in  Zoe.  She  was  more 
polished,  of  course,  and  she  understood  better  her  own 
possibilities;  but  that  was  all. 

"She  was  very  nice  to  us,  though;  I  think  she  re- 
tained some  gratitude  to  June  for  her  early  services. 
And  with  all  America  to  choose  from,  she  honours  our 
humble  dwelling  by  making  here  the  only  week-end  visit 
she  contemplates  in  America." 

"Why  wasn't  I  warned  that  I  was  about  to  meet  such 
a  celebrity?"  asked  Jim.  "And  why  isn't  she  shared 
with  more  people  ?" 

"I  didn't  warn  you  because  I  wanted  your  first  im- 
pression of  her  to  be  unshaded  by  preconceptions.  And 
I  haven't  asked  more  people  down  to  meet  her  because 
personally  I  find  Zoe  disappointing." 

Jim  laughed.     "After  your  exceedingly  appreciative 


40  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

history  of  her,  interspersed  with  wishes  that  you  were 
young  enough  to  make  love  to  her,  I  can't  believe  that," 
he  said, 

"Oh,  I  appreciate  her  looks !  I  love  to  see  Dan  Lenox's 
eyes  looking  out  of  the  face  of  the  vanished  Helga.  I 
love  to  hear  in  her  speech  an  echo  of  the  man  who  taught 
her  English — you've  noticed  her  accent?  And  I  love 
beauty  above  all  things,  and  she  has  it.  She  has  it,  and 
she  trusts  it.  Did  you  notice  her  turn-out  to-night:  no 
jewels,  no  colour,  just  a  rich  simple  gown,  not  much  like 
what  other  women  are  wearing  now,  and  her  splendid 
hair  in  a  low  coil  about  her  head,  utterly  unmodish  ?  She 
trusts  her  beauty,"  Evington  repeated. 

"Isn't  it  perhaps  that  she  trusts  her  money?"  Jim 
suggested.  "She  is  Zoe  Lenox,  and  she  doesn't  have  to 
dress  to  be  appreciated — isn't  it,  perhaps,  partly  that?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  Yet,  perhaps,  it  is  that,  too;  for  if 
Zoe  appreciated  anything  it  would  be  because  of  its  nega- 
tions." 

"Whatever  that  means,"  commented  Jim. 

Joyfully  Evington  elucidated.  "It  seems  to  me  that 
in  view  of  all  the  passion  behind  her,  the  violent  con- 
trasts of  which  she  is  the  product,  you  might  reasonably 
expect  Zoe  to  be  passionate  herself,  and  imaginative. 
And  she  isn't." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair;  again  he  watched  the 
ceiling  whereon  the  first  faint  heralding  of  the  dawn 
was  now  reflected.  When  he  spoke  again  his  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  a  distance.  "Dan  Lenox's  love," 
he  mused,  "the  South  Seas — European  capitals  and 
Grand  Dukes. — it  ought  to  produce  a  woman  of  sorts. 
And  in  spite  of  her  beauty  and  her  magnificent  sur- 
roundings, Zoe  is  a  woman  of  no  sort  whatever.  A 
nihilist,  if  that's  what  you  choose  to  call  her.  A  hanger- 


AND  EVINGTON  TRIES  TO  SATISFY  IT      41 

back,  if  you  like.  At  any  rate,  something  not  quite 
human." 

"An  Olympian,  perhaps,"  suggested  Jim. 

"Oh,  a  goddess,  no  doubt!  Any  young  man  would 
feel  that  way  about  her,"  said  Stuart. 

"Interesting  to  anybody  but  an  analyst  like  yourself," 
Jim  maintained. 

"Interesting  enough  to  me,  or  I  shouldn't  stay  up  all 
night  talking  about  her."  Evington's  voice  was  farther 
and  farther  away. 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  said  Jim,  "that  in  the  course  of 
an  all-night  session  you  might  have  recalled  one  trifling 
fact  that  seems  to  have  escaped  you.  You  knew  only 
one  of  Miss  Lenox's  parents,  but  she  undoubtedly  had 
two." 

"Yes,  didn't  I  say — Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean!  You 
think  that  Zoe  reproduces  her  mother  instead  of  her 
puissant  father?" 

"I  haven't  any  opinion  on  the  subject,"  said  Jim 
coolly.  "But  I  thought  you  ought  to  think  so." 

"It  was  stupid  of  me  not  to,"  admitted  Evington. 
"That  is  an  obvious  idea,  Jim,  and  a  good  one.  The 
unhappy  Helga  must  have  allowed  life  to  use  her  pretty 
much  as  it  would." 

"She  must  have  allowed  men  to  use  her  pretty  much 
as  they  would." 

"Yes.  One  wonders  what  would  have  become  of  her 
if  she  hadn't  met  Dan  Lenox,"  said  Evington.  "And 
if  your  plausible  theory  is  correct,  Jim,  one  wonders 
where  Zoe's  Dan  Lenox  is  to  come  from." 

"Perhaps  she  won't  find  one,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow!"  protested  Evington.  "When 
you  think  of  a  charming  theory,  have  the  courage  to 
follow  it  out  to  the  end.  Perhaps  she  won't,  actually ; 


42  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

but  it's  fascinating  to  try  to  imagine  what  he  would  be 
like  if  she  did.  Upon  my  soul,  Jim,  whether  I'm  con- 
sistent or  not,  I  say  again  that  if  I  were  young  and 
free " 

"I  don't  mind  your  saying  it,"  returned  Jim,  "because 
I  know  that  you  don't  believe  it,  Stuart." 

"No,  of  course  I  don't.  But  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
Jim,  I  can't  say  what  I  mightn't  do." 

"If  you  were  in  my  place,  Stuart,  you'd  be  just  as 
prosaic  and  unenterprising  as  I  am.  But  if  I  were  in 
your  place  I  shouldn't,  even  as  an  analyst,  be  regretting 
youths  and  Dianas."  Jim  strolled  to  the  window,  and 
looked  out  at  the  lawn  greying  in  the  early  twilight. 
"June  took  me  to  see  the  babies  at  supper  last  night," 
he  went  on,  with  or  without  connection.  "That's  the 
sort  of  sight  I  like." 

All  the  remoteness  went  out  of  Evington's  voice:  the 
analyst  and  man  of  the  world  disappeared  in  a  twink- 
ling. Evington  paterfamilias  sat  straight  in  his  chair 
and  beamed  upon  his  friend.  "Were  they  eating  nice- 
ly?" he  asked.  "When  they  do,  it's  very,  very  nice;  but 
when  they  don't,  it's  'orrid." 


CHAPTER  III 
A   SUNDAY   IN   TH£   COUNTRY 

JIM  dozed  for  two  hours  after  leaving  his  friend  that 
early  Sunday  morning.  Through  the  borderland  of 
sleep,  phantoms  pursued  him:  Dan  Lenox  in  his  covet- 
ousness  and  his  power  and  his  passion ;  the  faint  Helga, 
so  reminiscent  even  in  her  life-time  of  old,  unhappy,  far- 
off  things,  and  now  one  of  those  things  herself;  the 
superb  Zoe,  who  had  been  loved  by  Grand  Dukes,  and 
who  had  walked  queenly  into  the  Evingtons'  circle  in 
sables  worth  a  king's  ransom.  They  were  all  lovely 
phantoms,  it  seemed  to  him,  and  they  were  all  sad;  he 
could  have  wept  as  he  watched  them. 

Suddenly  he  came  broad  awake,  to  realise  that  it  was 
a  May  morning,  and  the  sun  was  shining.  And  he  had 
all  day,  a  long,  glorious  day,  to  find  and  follow  Zoe, 
if  that  was  what  he  cared  to  do.  She  was  flesh  and 
blood,  and  here ;  he  was  a  young  man,  on  a  May  morn- 
ing, and  he  laughed  in  his  strength.  Weariness  was 
farthest  from  his  thoughts.  He  leaped  out  of  bed,  stood 
under  an  icy  shower,  and  dressed  hastily  in  what  came 
to  hand.  Ten  minutes  after  he  had  been  in  bed  he  was 
out  to  greet  the  morning. 

Of  course,  he  reflected,  the  morning  was  probably 
all  that  he  would  greet  for  some  time  yet.  Zoe  Lenox 
might  suggest  Diana  to  the  adoring  mind;  but  in  sober 
fact  she  was  a  luxurious  modern  woman,  and  undoubt- 
edly not  given  to  walking  the  hills  at  dawn.  But  the 

43 


44  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

morning  was  worth  greeting  for  itself,  especially  when 
a  man  was  in  god-like  mood,  and  felt  that  he  owned 
the  morning,  and  everything  that  appertained  thereto. 

It  was  such  a  morning  as  comes  only  in  the  late  spring 
of  a  land  whose  winters  are  frigid:  a  limpid,  laughing, 
maiden  morning,  that  wooed  and  promised  and  never 
quite  surrendered.  Jim  chose  the  easiest  path  down  to 
the  water-side.  The  water  was  deep  blue  in  the  shadow 
near  at  hand;  farther  out  it  sparkled  almost  intolerably 
in  the  morning  sunlight.  This  was  a  morning  to  yield 
oneself  to  the  water,  to  swim  and  splash,  or  to  ride  the 
waves  in  a  shell — even  to  go  for  a  cruise  in  a  yacht 
named  The  Helga.  Jim  laughed  to  see  how  he  was  weav- 
ing into  the  freshness  of  the  morning  the  story  he  had 
heard  overnight;  laughed  to  think  that  Zoe  couldn't  es- 
cape him  even  by  staying  out  of  his  sight.  The  morning 
was  murmurous  with  her. 

There  was  no  yacht  at  hand,  Helga  or  other ;  and  one 
didn't  go  swimming  in  one's  clothes.  As  for  merely 
looking  at  the  water,  that  wasn't  enough  to  satisfy  Jim 
for  very  long.  He  couldn't  have  looked  passively  at 
anything  for  very  long — not  even  at  the  things  the  hour 
kept  hidden — when  this  morning's  exultation  was  upon 
him,  seeking  outlet  through  the  sinews  if  it  were  not  to 
flood  back  through  the  nerves. 

After  all,  the  sea  was  to  him  chiefly  a  thing  to  look 
out  upon  from  the  land;  but  of  the  land  he  liked  even 
the  rough  places,  liked  them  perhaps  the  best.  He  hon- 
oured mountains  not  only  by  admiring  them,  but  by 
scrambling  up  their  steep  sides.  He  would  have  liked 
to  climb  a  mountain  now,  to  express  his  silly,  wonderful 
exaltation  by  going  laboriously  but  triumphantly  up  and 
up  and  up. 

The  Evington  "place"  afforded  no  mountain;  but  the 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  45 

bluff  at  its  steepest  point  was  a  capital  substitute.  In- 
deed, it  looked  unscalable  just  there;  but  it  could  be 
scaled,  and  Jim  had  done  it,  choosing  the  steepest  place 
to  try  his  strength.  What  he  had  done  before,  he  could 
do  again;  yes,  and  to-day  he  could  do  things  that  he 
never  had  done  before! 

He  set  to  work  to  climb  to  the  summit  of  the  bluff. 
It  was  a  year  since  he  had  done  any  climbing,  but  he 
hadn't  lost  the  knack.  The  quick  eye  for  foot-holds, 
the  strong  arm  and  steady  foot — ah,  it  was  fine  for  a 
man  to  feel  he  had  them!  Up  and  up  and  up  he  went. 
His  breath  got  a  little  short,  but  not  disagreeably;  he 
could  feel  his  heart  pounding  and  his  blood  dancing; 
he  would  have  shouted  aloud  in  his  glee,  but  the  sun- 
shine and  the  dancing  blood  seemed  to  shout  for  him. 
He  was  climbing,  climbing ;  he  was  climbing  up  to  Para- 
dise! 

Of  course,  it  would  be  a  little  disappointing  to  achieve 
the  end:  to  reach  what  should  have  been  Paradise,  and 
find  only  the  Evingtons'  familiar  terraces  and  trees,  and 
in  their  midst  the  spreading  hospitable  house  where  peo- 
ple were  scarcely  beginning  to  think  of  getting  up.  If 
he  were  concerned  with  climax,  he  might  better  have 
gone  around  to  the  other  side,  where  there  was  no  climb 
to  speak  of,  and  the  view  burst  upon  any  one  who  simply 
surmounted  a  few  rocks. 

It  wasn't  climax  he  was  thinking  of,  though;  it  was 
climb.  Climb,  climax ;  climax,  climb — his  brain  revolved 
the  words,  endeavoured  to  shape  a  pun  from  them,  gave 
up  the  attempt.  He  laughed  anyhow;  to-day  he  didn't 
need  an  excuse  for  laughing. 

As  he  neared  the  top  Jim  thought  that  he  heard  some 
one  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  of  rock.  He  listened 
a  moment,  and  then  decided  that  he  was  mistaken;  he 


46  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

must  himself  have  displaced  a  stone.  With  a  last 
careful  planting  of  his  feet,  a  last  mighty  heave 
of  his  body,  he  reached  the  very  top;  his  head  came 
above  the  highest  rock,  and  he  looked  over.  Instead  of 
gazing  at  a  peaceful  and  familiar  prospect,  he  looked 
at  close  range  into  a  woman's  face,  the  brows  drawn 
and  the  cheeks  flushed  with  exertion  and  surprise. 

It  was  an  easy  thing  to  explain,  when  you  thought 
of  it  afterward.  Any  one  climbing  up  on  the  land  side 
to  get  the  best  view  would  come  to  the  same  particular 
spot  to  which  Jim  had  chosen  to  climb  on  the  water 
side.  If  the  two  arrivals  synchronised,  the  two  climb- 
ers would  find  themselves  at  their  journeys'  end  with 
their  faces  not  a  foot  apart.  But  the  effect  of  such  an 
apparition  was  startling  to  a  man  who  had  supposed 
himself  the  only  waking  creature  about  the  place;  and 
when  Jim  realised  after  his  first  shock  who  it  was  that 
thus  confronted  him,  only  the  habit  of  his  muscles  held 
him  where  he  was. 

For  a  moment  he  hung  there  breathless,  in  no  little 
actual  danger.  She  perceived  his  situation,  and  spoke. 
"Come  up  the  rest  of  the  way,"  she  said.  "Unless,  of 
course,  you  intend  suicide;  in  that  case  please  jump  off 
at  once,  and  don't  keep  me  waiting." 

She  said  it  very  coolly,  but  her  slight  un-English  ac- 
cent was  more  pronounced  than  usual;  he  could  have 
placed  it  to-day  without  assistance  from  Evington.  His 
mind  slid  to  her  accent;  quite  calmly  he  mounted  and 
stood  erect  on  the  rampart  of  rock.  "Come  up  here 
to  see  the  prospect  ?"  he  suggested,  and  extended  a  hand 
to  draw  her  up  beside  him. 

If  he  wasn't  going  to  fall,  Miss  Lenox  saw  no  reason 
for  changing  her  intention  of  getting  the  view.  She 
laid  a  cool  firm  hand  in  his,  and  stood  with  him  on  the 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  47 

rampart.  Together  they  gazed  at  the  magnificent  pano- 
ramic view  which  was  the  choicest  thing  Stuart  Eving- 
ton  owned.  They  stood  in  silence,  close  together  on  the 
little  ledge.  They  gazed  like  confirmed  Nature  wor- 
shippers. Perhaps,  indeed,  Zoe  formed  a  picture  to 
carry  with  her  when  she  left  America;  but  for  all  that 
Jim  saw,  pitch  blackness  might  have  begun  ten  feet  from 
where  they  stood. 

Zoe  turned  from  the  prospect  presently,  and  he  got  off 
the  rock  and  gave  her  a  hand.  She  began  to  walk  away, 
and  he  fell  into  step  beside  her.  His  knees  were  shak- 
ing a  little;  but  it  was  with  disappointment  he  noted 
that  she  was  starting  directly  for  the  house. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  walk  for  a  little  while?"  he 
suggested. 

"I've  been  walking,"  she  replied.  "Straight  across 
the  meadows,  for  hours  and  hours." 

Jim  could  think  of  no  better  answer  than,  "You  must 
have  got  up  early." 

"I  sometimes  do,"  said  Zoe. 

They  walked  slowly  across  the  widest  part  of  the 
lawn.  As  she  moved  thus  by  his  side  Jim  noted  for 
the  first  time  how  tall  she  was,  very  nearly  as  tall  as  he. 
In  her  short  white  skirt  and  simple  blouse,  elbow-sleeved 
and  open  at  the  neck,  she  showed  how  well-muscled  she 
was,  how  deep-chested,  how  sure  and  easy  in  her  move- 
ments. Her  heavy  fair  hair,  which  she  had  worn  the 
evening  before  in  a  coil  like  a  coronet — a  Grand-ducal 
coronet — was  twisted  now  into  a  great  knot  that  would 
have  overbalanced  a  smaller  woman.  She  was  dressed 
with  no  thought  of  the  public  eye;  she  wasn't  even,  this 
morning,  deliberately  ignoring  it.  But  she  walked  in 
beauty.  Realising  how  her  beauty  followed  her,  how, 
whether  she  liked  it  or  not,  it  must  largely  condition  her 


48  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

life,  Jim  felt  a  sudden  whimsical  sympathy  with  her.  He 
felt,  too,  a  quick  rebellion  against  Evington's  diagnosis 
of  her  character.  If  she  were  indifferent,  it  was  not 
from  any  inherent  defect  in  her :  it  was  because  she  was 
bored.  And  beasts  like  Evington — and  Jim  himself — 
were  what  bored  her.  Man-like,  however,  Jim  intended 
to  continue  to  bore  her. 

Under  the  pergola  Zoe  paused.  "I  think  I'll  have  my 
breakfast  out  here,"  she  said.  "It's  warm  enough,  and 
I  believe  Mrs.  Evington  wouldn't  object." 

"No,  she  never  objects,"  said  Whittaker.  "I  may 
breakfast  with  you,  mayn't  I?  I'm  sure  we  are  the  only 
two  who  are  up  yet." 

"Certainly  you  may,  if  you  like,"  she  said.  Her 
boredom  didn't  deepen  visibly  at  the  suggestion;  she 
wasn't  bored  for  the  effect's  sake. 

Jim  went  in  search  of  a  servant,  and  ordered  break- 
fast for  two  brought  out  to  the  pergola.  When  he  re- 
turned Zoe  Lenox  had  seated  herself,  and  was  looking 
at  the  view  and  yawning.  "Will  you  ask  somebody  to 
ask  my  maid  to  bring  me  a  coat?"  she  suggested. 

The  coat  appeared  before  the  breakfast;  Zoe's  Malay 
maid  brought  it.  She  was  brown  and  wrinkled  enough 
for  a  witch  in  a  fairy-tale;  but  she  was  dressed  like 
anybody  else's  maid,  and  in  taking  the  coat  from  her 
Zoe  said,  'Thank  you,  Anna." 

"Did  you  say  'Anna'?"  Jim  couldn't  help  asking. 

"Yes.  It  isn't  her  name,  but  she  has  me  call  her  that 
before  people,"  answered  Zoe  carelessly. 

"A  strong  sense  of  social  conformity  somewhere," 
thought  Jim.  "In  which  would  it  be  less  appropriate,  a 
brown  pirate's  daughter,  or  Dan  Lenox's?" 

When  their  breakfast  was  brought,  Zoe  gave  it  her 
full  attention.  She  was  hungry,  and  she  seemed  also 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  49 

to  be  drowsy.  The  morning  breeze  stirred  the  hair  about 
her  temples,  and  she  yawned.  The  same  breeze  brought 
Jim  the  fullest  sensation  of  life.  To  breakfast  under 
a  pergola  of  a  sunny  May  morning,  with  a  goddess  seated 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table — wasn't  that  an  ambrosial 
way  to  begin  a  day? 

Her  breakfast  must  have  done  the  goddess  good;  at 
its  conclusion  her  yawns  had  disappeared.  She  looked 
at  Jim,  curiously,  a  little  daringly.  "I  am  thinking," 
she  announced,  setting  down  her  cup  for  the  last  time, 
"of  something  shocking." 

"Do  tell  me,"  said  Jim. 

"I  am  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  I  should  like  to  go  for 
a  sail." 

"And  the  Evingtons  haven't  a  boat!"  ejaculated  Jim. 

"No.  But  the  people  who  own  the  next  landing  have," 
remarked  Zoe. 

"Will  that  do  us  any  good?"  asked  Jim. 

"Why  not  ?  It's  early  yet,  and  the  boat  is  simply  tied. 
Tied  to  the  pier,  too;  it  oughtn't  to  be." 

"You  are  thinking  of  borrowing  it — without  disturb- 
ing them?"  asked  Jim. 

"Exactly.  To  ask  them  would  be  to  reflect  on  our 
host  and  hostess,  don't  you  think?" 

He  thought  that  she  was  only  talking;  but  suddenly 
she  stood  up  and  asked,  "Well,  shall  we  go?" 

And  because  she  was  a  goddess,  and  it  was  a  May 
morning,  he  stood  up,  too.  "Certainly  we  will,"  he 
said. 

They  made  for  the  boundary  wall,  casting  back 
glances  at  the  house  to  see  if  any  one  was  watching  them. 
They  scaled  the  wall,  and  followed  it  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  No  one  hailed  them,  or  tried  to  discover  their 


50  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

business;  they  seemed  to  move  in  the  midst  of  a  sleep- 
ing world. 

The  sail-boat  lay  just  where  Zoe  had  said  it  was:  her 
early  morning  explorations  had  been  to  some  purpose. 
As  she  put  out  quick  hands  to  untie  the  rope  that  held 
it,  Jim  remarked,  "You  will  find  me  an  awful  duffer 
in  a  boat.  Lubber,  I  believe,  is  the  technical  term." 

He  said  it,  not  diffidently,  but  as  a  simple  matter  of 
fact :  Jim's  way  of  dealing  with  his  own  deficiencies  was 
one  of  the  best  things  about  him.  For  a  moment  Zoe 
looked  at  him  curiously;  then  she  said  indifferently, 
"Oh,  I  can  sail  enough  for  two." 

When  they  were  actually  in  the  boat,  however,  she 
let  him  hold  the  sheet.  "This  isn't  a  particularly  good 
boat,"  she  remarked  as  she  steered  away  from  shore. 
"I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  grateful  for  it,  though." 

To  Jim  it  seemed  that  it  was  a  particularly  good  boat : 
quite  a  wonderful,  a  celestial  boat.  It  flew  over  the 
water;  and  the  water  sparkled,  and  the  wind  blew  all 
the  earthiness  out  of  a  man's  being.  He  need  never 
touch  the  earth  again;  he  was  purified,  exalted.  His 
spirit  found  wings. 

But  he  felt  at  last  a  need  to  say  something;  and  he 
gave  vent  to  the  not  particularly  original  remark,  "Sail- 
ing is  like  flying,  isn't  it  ?" 

Zoe  kept  her  eyes  straight  ahead;  but  she  returned 
promptly,  "Haven't  you  ever  flown?" 

"Yes,  I  have.  Twice,  come  to  think  of  it,"  he  re- 
plied. "Have  you?" 

"Several  times.  Always,  I  think,  in  Paris,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"It  was  in  Paris  that  I  flew,"  said  Jim.  "With  one 
of  those  fine  French  aviators — aren't  they  wonders? 
Isn't  it  odd  that  we  should  both  have  flown  in  Paris? 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  51 

Do  you  suppose  we  were  ever  there  at  the  same  time?" 

"Very  likely,"  she  responded.  "Where  else  would 
you  go  if  you  wanted  to  fly?" 

Jim  felt  that  a  passion  for  coincidence  was  one  of 
the  things  which  would  bore  her.  He  went  back  to  his 
true  subject.  "Weren't  you  just  a  little  bit  disappointed 
in  the  experience  ?"  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said  flatly.  She  was  good  enough 
to  add  in  explanation,  "But  then,  I  hadn't  expected  too 
much  of  it,  as  I  think  people  are  likely  to.  I  hadn't 
expected  much :  the  air  isn't  my  native  element." 

"The  water  is?" 

"I  feel  that  it  is,"  she  said,  with  her  first  glance  to- 
ward him. 

"I  can  believe  that,"  he  assured  her. 

She  changed  the  boat's  course,  and  went  on,  "In  a 
sailing  vessel,  you  know,  you're  almost  a  part  of  the 
surrounding  elements,  no  matter  how  large  your  boat." 

"Especially  when  the  elements  are  boisterous?"  sug- 
gested Jim. 

"No;  when  they're  boisterous  the  ship  seems  a  bul- 
wark against  them.  But  that's  just  my  own  feeling; 
perhaps  many  people  wouldn't  agree  with  it  at  all." 

"I  suppose  you  have  been  in  all  sorts  of  squalls  ?" 

"In  all  sorts,"  she  agreed. 

"What  difference  do  you  suppose  you  will  notice  when 
you  cruise  in  your  new  yacht?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"I  expect  to  have  more  comfort,  and  less  fun,"  she 
answered. 

"A  fair  exchange?" 

"I  don't  know.  Probably,  for  I  think  I'm  getting 
soft." 

She  didn't  look  soft,  though:  she  looked  alert  and 
strong,  capable  and  quiet.  Whittaker  thought  that  never, 


52  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

under  any  possible  conditions,  could  she  show  to 
greater  advantage  than  here.  Little  waves  slapped  the 
boat;  the  wind  flapped  the  sail,  and  flapped  Zoe's  tie, 
and  blew  her  hair  into  glorious  confusion.  She  had 
hair  like  a  Viking's  daughter;  she  sailed  like  a  Viking 
himself.  And  yet  she  condescended  to  go  a-sailing  of 
a  summer  morning  in  a  borrowed  boat  with  Jim  Whit- 
taker,  who  was  a  typical  duffer — no,  lubber.  And  they 
were  getting  on  very  nicely  indeed,  if  anybody  should 
ask. 

Back  and  forth  she  took  the  little  boat,  dipping  dar- 
ingly on  the  turns.  After  an  especially  daring  turn  she 
spoke  to  Jim.  "I  should  like,"  she  said,  "to  tip  the  boat 
over,  and  duck  us  both.  That  is,  if  it  weren't  a  bor- 
rowed boat.  But  it  mightn't  be  considered  proper  any- 
how, of  a  Sunday  morning." 

"It  might  be  conspicuous,"  Jim  agreed. 

"Do  you  usually  go  to  church  of  a  Sunday  morning?" 
she  wanted  to  know. 

"I  do  not.  I  usually  play  golf  or  tennis,"  he  answered. 
"Tennis  when  the  weather  is  nice,  and  golf  when  it 
isn't." 

"I  don't  go  either,"  she  said.  "But  I  like  to  have  the 
other  people  in  the  house  go.  It  makes  it  so  quiet  for 
me,  if  I  want  to  take  a  nap." 

"No  one  will  disturb  you  here,  whatever  you  want  to 
do.  Mrs.  Evington  is  a  verv  unobtrusive  hostess,"  said 
Jim. 

"Ah,  she's  charming !  She  knows  so  well  what  she 
wants,  doesn't  she?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  she  has  only  a  strong  in- 
stinct for  her  niche  in  life,"  said  Jim. 

"At  any  rate,  her  wisdom  doesn't  seem  to  have  fur- 
rowed her  brow,"  remarked  Miss  Lenox.  "She  looks 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  53 

so  young.  With  all  those  children,  she  seems  scarcely 
older  now  than  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  her,  which  was 
on  her  honeymoon." 

"I  met  her  at  her  own  wedding,"  said  Jim. 

Again  a  silence  fell.  Jim  scarcely  knew  whether  he 
preferred  her  speech  or  her  silence.  He  liked  her  voice, 
and  he  was  fascinated  by  her  accent,  with  its  faint  de- 
licious Irishry,  which  time  and  opportunity  could  culti- 
vate but  never  conquer.  Yet  it  was  wonderful  to  sit 
beside  her  in  silence :  there  was  intimacy  in  such  silence, 
out  here  among  the  elements.  And  in  the  silence  things 
were  adumbrated  in  a  man's  mind,  rare  things,  which 
he  might  be  sillily  afraid  to  think  too  much  about.  To 
sail  so,  everlastingly,  over  a  sapphire  sea,  with  the  sum- 
mer wind  now  on  breast,  now  on  back,  to  feel  always 
beside  him  beauty  and  strangeness,  giving  significance 
to  the  very  elements  themselves — ah,  that  would  be 
more  than  life!  That  would  be  Paradise,  such  a  Para- 
dise as  lies  not  even  on  the  tops  of  the  unsealed  moun- 
tains. 

For  an  hour  longer  he  glimpsed  this  Paradise.  Then 
Zoe  headed  the  boat  for  its  own  pier,  and  tied  it  just  as 
she  had  found  it.  "Now  let  any  one  connect  us  with 
trespass,"  she  said  as  she  and  Jim  crossed  the  boundary 
wall  on  their  way  home. 

''That  was  awfully  jolly,"  he  murmured  as  they  en- 
tered the  house. 

"Awfully,"  she  agreed.  "I  could  make  a  sailor  of 
you,  I  believe." 

Their  eyes  met;  and  Jim  could  not  have  helped  it  if 
she  read  significance  in  his.  Probably  she  would  not 
have  minded ;  he  was  not  the  first  man  who  had  looked 
at  her  so.  But  coming  in  from  the  fresh  air  completed 
just  then  what  early  rising  and  a  hearty  breakfast  had 


54  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

begun:  she  yawned  uncontrollably.  "Oh,  I  beg  youi- 
pardon!  It's  time,  I  see,  for  my  nap,"  she  said,  and 
vanished  up  the  stairs. 

Jim  went  to  his  room,  too;  but  it  was  only  to  dress 
more  carefully  In  spite  of  his  short  night,  he  had  never 
felt  less  like  sleep.  He  redescended,  and  roamed  over 
the  house.  How  could  people  lie  a-bed  on  such  a 
morning? 

Finally  the  other  members  of  the  party  came  straying 
down  in  various  states  of  alertness,  and  sought  break- 
fast or  diversion.  Evington,  June  and  the  Camps  break- 
fasted together,  or  at  least  overlapped;  Jessica,  who 
never  appeared  in  public  until  she  was  fortified  for  it, 
came  down  later  alone ;  and  last  of  all  came  Drummond, 
who  was  always  cross  of  a  morning,  though  in  company 
he  was  at  some  pains  to  conceal  it. 

Jim  strolled  up  to  Jessica,  to  claim  his  game  of  tennis. 
Jessica,  however,  was  in  a  petulant  mood.  She  had  oc- 
cupied a  room  looking  toward  the  side  lawn,  where 
couples  approaching  from  the  boundary  wall  were  read- 
ily visible;  and  she  had  seen  what  she  had  seen.  She 
dragged  Evington,  who  disliked  violent  exercise,  and 
the  Camps,  who  would  rather  have  gone  to  church,  out 
to  the  tennis  court  for  doubles.  Drummond  retired  to 
the  library,  and  buried  himself  in  Sunday  papers.  Jim 
stalked  alone  through  empty  rooms,  seeking  some  out- 
let for  his  energy. 

At  the  climax  of  his  impatience  he  came  upon  June 
Evington,  as  fresh  and  smiling  as  the  morning  itself. 
"Aren't  you  playing  tennis?"  she  asked.  "Shouldn't 
you  like  to  play?" 

"They've  made  up  the  set  without  me,"  said  Jim. 

"I'll  go  to  the  other  court  with  you,  if  you  like,"  she 
said.  "I  prefer  singles  to  doubles  myself;  don't  you?" 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  55 

"Should  you  really  like  to  play?"  asked  Jim. 

Of  course  she  would  like  to:  that  was  June.  Jim 
suddenly  felt  appeased,  and  almost  merry.  He  enjoyed 
his  game  with  her,  even  if  June's  tennis  wasn't  as  good 
as  her  intentions. 

They  came  in  just  at  lunch-time,  as  did  the  four  from 
the  other  court.  Drummond  reappeared  from  the  li- 
brary, and  there  were  seven  of  them  at  the  table.  "Isn't 
Miss  Lenox  coming  down?"  asked  Edith  Camp. 

"Evidently  not.  Her  maid  says  she  is  asleep,"  re- 
plied June  placidly. 

"The  siesta  is  a  good  habit,"  remarked  Drummond. 
"It  kills  so  much  time." 

"Why  not  adopt  the  good  habit,  Sam?"  asked  Jessica 
Drummond.  "Sleep  the  twenty-four  hours  round,  and 
really  enjoy  yourself."  Incongruously  her  eyes  met 
Jim's  at  that  moment  with  a  beseeching  look ;  she  seemed 
to  be  begging  his  pardon  for  something — ignoring  him 
when  she  made  up  her  set  for  tennis,  probably. 

The  talk  turned  on  plans  for  the  afternoon.  Jim  had 
no  mind  to  kick  his  heels  in  the  hall  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  waiting  for  Zoe  Lenox  to  appear.  She  mightn't 
appear  anyway.  He  meditated  going  off,  somewhere, 
anywhere,  by  himself;  he  meditated  staying  with  the 
rest  of  the  party,  and,  say,  flirting  with  Jessica  Drum- 
mond. He  and  Jessica  never  had  flirted,  but  he  knew 
she  wasn't  the  woman  to  ignore  a  challenge.  In  the 
end  he  did  neither.  A  motor  party  was  made  up,  and 
at  his  own  request  he  was  left  out  of  it.  Jessica  looked 
hard  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  pointedly  looked 
away. 

June  stopped  a  moment  beside  him  as  they  were  leav- 
ing. "I  suppose  Miss  Lenox  will  be  down  soon,"  she 
said.  "Amuse  each  other,  won't  you,  when  she  does  ap- 


56  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

pear?  It  makes  it  stupid  for  you,  I  know,  having  the 
rest  all  old  married  people.  Have  you  seen  the  new 
books  that  Stuart  got  yesterday?" 

With  an  armful  of  Stuart's  new  books,  Jim  estab- 
lished himself  in  the  deserted  hall.  That  hall  of  the 
Evingtons'  was  no  mere  passage-way:  it  was  rather 
the  heart  of  the  house.  Cool  and  dim  in  summer,  cheer- 
ful with  a  crackling  fire  in  winter,  it  was  always  a  fa- 
vourite place  for  tea  and  talk  and  lounging.  Incidental- 
ly, it  commanded  the  house. 

Whittaker  stretched  himself  on  a  couch,  and  opened 
one  of  Stuart's  new  books.  For  a  few  minutes  he  was 
uneasy,  casting  frequent  glances  at  the  stairs,  of  which 
he  had  an  uninterrupted  view.  Then  he  became  inter- 
ested in  his  book ;  finally,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  he  was 
desperately  sleepy.  He  fought  off  his  lethargy;  he 
wouldn't  for  the  world  have  a  descending  goddess  find 
him  sprawling  in  slumber.  But  the  dimness,  the  silence, 
and  last  night's  short  sleep  were  all  against  him.  His 
book  drooped,  and  then  dropped  from  his  hand;  he  un- 
disguisedly  slept. 

He  woke  with  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  asleep  a 
long  time:  he  was  chilly  and  a  little  bit  stiff.  Every- 
thing in  the  house  was  quiet:  if  a  goddess  had  passed 
that  way,  she  had  left  no  trace.  Jim  covered  himself 
then  with  a  rug,  and  settled  his  limbs  in  resignation.  If 
sleeping  were  the  order  of  the  day,  he  would  at  least 
sleep  in  comfort. 

He  didn't  sleep  again,  however;  he  lay  with  half- 
closed  eyes  and  watched  the  hall  darken.  He  wondered 
what  had  become  of  Zoe  Lenox,  and  whether  the  motor 
party  would  come  home  for  tea,  or  stop  somewhere  else. 
He  thought  of  his  morning's  glorious  sail,  and  what 
might  happen  that  evening;  and  he  speculated  as  to  the 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  57 

outcome  of  a  business  appointment  he  had  for  the  next 
day. 

Then  somebody  crossed  the  field  of  his  vision,  pass- 
ing slowly  through  the  hall  and  mounting  the  stairs.  It 
was  Zoe's  Malay  maid,  whom  she  called  Anna.  Whom 
she  called  Anna ;  that  seemed  funny  to  him  now,  and  he 
grinned.  Just  at  that  moment  the  maid  halted  half- 
way up  the  stairs,  turned,  and  looked  down  upon  him. 
In  the  gathering  dusk  he  couldn't  see  her  expression; 
perhaps  he  could  not  make  it  out  if  he  had  seen  it. 
But  that  glance  somehow  affected  him  as  sinister.  It 
woke  him  very  thoroughly;  and  when  the  maid  had  dis- 
appeared up  the  stairs,  he  rose  and  turned  on  the  lights. 

He  sat  down  to  one  of  Stuart's  books,  and  tried  to  re- 
vive his  interest  in  it;  he  was  becoming  conscious  of  a 
dull  sense  of  injury.  And  then  suddenly  Zoe  herself 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  began  to  descend. 

She  came  slowly,  the  fingers  of  one  hand  skimming 
the  banister;  she  might  have  been  in  some  solemn  pro- 
cession, descending  some  staircase  of  state.  Again  this 
evening  she  was  dressed  in  white,  a  white  robe  that  fell 
straight  from  bosom  to  hem ;  it  had  wide  chiffon  sleeves, 
shaped  like  an  angel's  wings,  and  a  dull  gold  girdle. 
That  was  all.  No  sheen  of  fabric,  no  jewels,  her  hair 
in  that  simple  massive  coil;  yet  she  advanced  like  an 
army  with  banners.  This  was  more  than  beauty;  this 
was  the  true  imperial  front. 

Jim  was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  as  soon  as  she  was. 
"Where  is  everybody?"  she  asked. 

"They  have  all  gone  motoring.  They  ought  to  be 
back  very  soon,"  Jim  answered.  "Would  you  like  your 
tea  now?" 

"No,  thank  you.  It's  late  for  tea.  Don't  you  know 
what  time  it  is?"  she  asked. 


58  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"I've  been  asleep,"  Jim  explained. 

"So  have  I.  And  I've  been  reading."  She  passed 
him,  and  moved  toward  the  library. 

Jim  started  after  her;  but  he  heard  outside  the  ap- 
proach of  the  motoring  party.  Reflecting  that  if  it  were 
as  near  dinner  time  as  Zoe  had  said,  the  first  man  dressed 
would  be  first  in  the  field,  Jim  turned  and  sped  up- 
stairs. He  hurried  through  his  preparations  for  din- 
ner; but  he  felt  that  he  ought  not  to  scamp  them  too 
much.  When  one  appeared  before  a  goddess,  it  must 
be  with  candid  soul  and  body. 

The  candid  soul  and  body,  however,  may  find  a  less 
candid  in  possession.  When  Jim  found  Miss  Lenox 
again,  Drummond,  incredibly  sleek  in  his  evening  clothes, 
fat  and  waggish  and  altogether  loathsome,  was  holding 
forth  to  her;  and  she,  who  had  snubbed  him  so  flatly 
the  evening  before,  was  looking  rather  more  amused 
than  displeased. 

Drummond  certainly  enjoyed  that  evening,  and  it  is 
possible  that  Miss  Lenox  did.  Drummond  and  Camp 
both  sat  with  her  after  dinner,  and  she  kept  them  both 
in  play.  Stuart  had  a  headache,  and  was  very  quiet; 
the  entertainment  of  three  women  fell  upon  Jim.  He 
got  them  to  playing  bridge  finally;  he  himself  took  up 
his  position  at  the  table  with  his  back  to  Miss  Lenox. 

It  was  not,  Jim  reflected  as  he  undressed,  quite  the 
sort  of  evening  he  had  looked  forward  to.  Even  his 
usual  late  talk  was  knocked  in  the  head  by  Stuart's 
indisposition.  Well,  the  gods  decide;  and  perhaps  they 
were  now  benevolently  busy  in  keeping  Jim  Whittaker 
from  making  a  fool  of  himself. 

He  fell  asleep  wondering  what  was  the  matter  lately 
with  Jessica  Drummond.  She  hadn't  said  a  spiteful 
thing  all  the  evening;  and  her  high  spirits  had  vanished 


A  SUNDAY  IN  THE  COUNTRY  59 

with  her  malice.  Perhaps  Sam  had  at  last  gone  too 
far;  though  if  Evington  could  be  trusted,  there  wasn't 
any  enormity  on  Sam's  part  that  Jessica  hadn't  already 
put  up  with.  Well,  perhaps  the  high-spirited  one  was 
simply  wearing  down  as  she  grew  older.  It  didn't  seem 
likely;  but  this  was  a  topsy-turvy  world. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PLANS 


JIM  WHITTAKER  went  back  to  town  Monday 
morning,  just  as  he  had  planned.  He  left  on  an 
early  train,  when  the  rest  of  the  house-party  was  still 
a-bed.  June  alone  breakfasted  with  him;  she  pleaded 
that  he  prolong  his  stay.  "At  least  until  to-night,"  she 
urged.  "You  haven't  had  a  gay  time  at  all,  but  per- 
haps to-day  might  be  better.  What  is  Monday  in  town, 
anyhow?  And  it's  almost  summer,  and  lovely  weather. 
Do  stay,  Jim." 

Ordinarily  he  would  have  stayed;  this  time  he  ad- 
hered to-  his  decision,  and  left.  This  was  emphatically 
a  case  where  a  little  discretion  might  be  the  saving  of 
a  man.  He  wasn't  enamoured  of  the  lovely  Zoe  —  yet; 
but  the  signs  were  clear  that  with  opportunity  he  might 
be.  And  he  didn't  care  to  be.  Perhaps,  if  he  were  given 
the  opportunity  and  the  desire,  he  might  for  a  time  re- 
lieve her  consuming  ennui;  but  he  wasn't  keen  for  the 
task,  with  no  better  reward  in  view  than  that  of  a  more 
or  less  extended  dangling  at  her  regal  skirts.  He 
couldn't  hope,  to  marry  her  —  if  he  could,  wouldn't  the 
emotion  be*  rather  dread  than  hope?  And  he  wasn't 
thrilled  at  the  prospect  of  joining  the  probably  already 
large  crowd  of  worshippers  at  her  austere  shrine. 

Women,  he  thought  as  he  settled  back  in  his  seat, 
were  queer  things  anyway.  Some  of  them  were  born 
destroyers,  like  Jessica  Drummond;  Jim  seemed  to  feel 
that  even  if  a  worthy  man  had  early  put  his  trust  in 

60 


WELL-LAID  PLANS  61 

Jessica,  Jessica  would  only  have  flouted  his  worthiness. 
And  there  was  Zoe  Lenox ;  and  there  was  June.  June  as 
she  had  sat  at  the  breakfast  table  that  morning  came 
before  his  mental  eye  more  clearly  than  when  he  had  sat 
near  her:  little,  pink  and  white,  pretty,  contented  June; 
she  was  one  of  the  upbuilders.  Did  Stuart,  when  he 
wasn't  for  argument's  sake  insisting  that  there  were 
plenty  of  Junes  in  this  world,  realise  how  lucky  he  was 
to  have  June,  and  the  babies,  and  a  house  on  a  bluff,  to 
come  home  to  every  night? 

If  Jim  himself  ever  got  a  house,  it  should  be  in  a  high 
place.  A  house  upon  a  hill,  so  that  in  approaching  it 
he  would  go  up  and  up  and  up.  A  white  house  with 
spreading  wings,  candid  crown  to  a  gracious  slope.  If 
it  were 'within  motoring  distance  of  town,  the  practical 
thought  came,  he  could  motor  up  every  evening.  The 
picture  grew  in  distinctness  when  he  saw  himself  mo- 
toring up;  he  could  see  just  how  he  would  get  out  of 
the  motor,  and  run  up  the  steps  to  the  wide  white-pil- 
lared veranda.  And  if  he  were  a  householder,  of  course 
there  would  be  somebody  waiting  for  him  in  the  veranda. 
He  saw  her  suddenly  just  as  she  would  stand  waiting, 
one  hand  resting  against  a  pillar,  her  hair  flaming  in 
the  late  sunlight.  A  moment  the  picture  stayed,  and 
then  Jim  realised  who  it  was  that  he  had  thus  placed 
at  the  head  of  his  imaginary  household :  the  acquaintance 
of  a  day,  a  lady  who  had  a  dozen  houses  of  her  own  at 
command.  He  flushed  like  a  boy  at  his  own  folly. 

That  morning  he  went  on  no  imaginative  excursion; 
he  drove  from  the  train  straight  to  his  office.  He  found 
himself  glad  to  get  there.  He  liked  his  office,  anyway; 
and  his  being  there  at  all  was  proof  that  he  sometimes 
thought  for  himself.  Jim  was  the  youngest  of  four 
brothers,  every  one  of  whom  had  studied  law;  indeed, 


62  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

every  male  Whittaker  since  the  dim  dawn  of  history 
had  studied  law.  But  Jim,  who  had  happened  into  the 
world  after  his  parents  were  rather  tired  of  having  chil- 
dren, and  who  had  grown  up  pretty  much  alone,  was  not 
a  typical  Whittaker.  Not  only  did  he  snub  the  law : 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  liberal  arts,  even  to  the  ex- 
tent of  a  year  or  two  of  graduate  work.  Emerging 
therefrom  without  any  delusion  that  Nature  had  in- 
tended him  for  either  an  artist  or  a  savant,  Jim  had 
embarked  with  his  share  of  his  father's  estate  on  a  busi- 
ness career.  He  and  a  man  slightly  older  than  him- 
self formed  a  partnership,  and  sold  bonds.  He  made 
money;  and  although  that  did  not  alter  the  family  opin- 
ion that  he  was  an  odd  fish,  it  certainly  raised  him  in 
the  family  esteem.  All  his  sisters-in-law  stood  ready  to 
find  him  a  wife.  Jim,  however,  blandly  resisted  their 
efforts;  he  preferred  a  flat  to  himself,  and  meals  all  over 
town,  as  the  fancy  struck  him. 

When  he  reached  his  flat  on  this  particular  evening, 
it  looked  very  attractive  after  his  two  days'  absence.  He 
was  glad  to  find  that  it  did  strike  him  so;  that  proved 
that  his  dream  of  a  house  on  a  hill  was  a  dream  only, 
not  a  waking  aspiration.  But,  to  be  sure,  it  was  a  very 
nice  flat.  He  kept  it  nicely,  too;  there  was  a  pipe  on 
every  article  of  furniture,  indeed,  but  with  that  excep- 
tion it  was  flawlessly  neat.  Jim  was  your  true  bachelor, 
not  a  married  man  whose  wife  has  gone  for  a  vacation. 
The  living-room  boasted  a  fine  fire-place,  where  a  fire 
was  now  laid;  in  front  of  it  was  a  low  couch,  with  a 
small  revolving  book-case  at  hand.  There  were  plenty 
of  books:  the  walls  were  almost  lined  with  cases,  and 
above  them  with  pictures.  The  effect  was  a  bit  crowded, 
but  to  Jim's  eye  full  of  suggestion.  Athletic  trophies 
had  been  relegated  to  the  bed-room,  where  they  kept 


WELL-LAID  PLANS  63 

company  with  family  portraits,  that  is,  the  photographs 
of  his  father  and  mother,  both  dead  now,  after  lives  in 
which  they  had  neither  manifested  nor  cared  to  mani- 
fest the  slightest  "queerness." 

Jim  lighted  his  fire,  and  stretched  himself  on  the 
couch  before  it;  he  had  dined  on  his  way  uptown.  He 
turned  on  his  reading-lamp,  got  his  pipe  a-going,  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the  revolving  book-case : 
he  had  the  evening  before  him. 

In  the  act  of  taking  down  a  book  he  was  halted  by 
a  vision;  the  white  house  upon  a  hill  came  Before  his 
eyes  so  vividly  as  to  be  almost  an  hallucination.  It  lasted 
only  a  moment,  but  it  left  a  deep  disgust  in  its  wake. 
Here  he  was,  with  the  materials  for  happiness  all  at 
hand ;  and  it  had  always  been  his  secret  boast  that,  given 
the  materials  for  happiness,  he  had  wisdom  enough  to 
use  them  to  be  happy.  Yet  he  was  disturbing  himself 
about  nothing,  acting  as  if  his  mission  in  life  were  to 
cry  for  the  moon. 

Well,  he  was  tired  to-night.  Being  tired,  he  was  hard 
to  please;  he  realised  that  as  he  ran  down  the  books 
under  his  hand,  and  failed  to  find  anything  that  pleased 
him.  These  were  all  new  books :  a  biography,  some  con- 
temporary criticism,  two  printed  plays,  and  several 
novels.  One  who  could  not  be  interested  by  some  of 
them  was  hard  to  please;  yet  Jim  was  not  interested 
enough  to  take  down  one  of  them. 

In  these  dilemmas,  however,  there  is  always  some 
way  out  for  the  man  who  has  arranged  his  life  well. 
Jim  gave  the  book-case  a  little  shove;  revolving,  it  ex- 
posed to  view  a  side  loaded  with  old  favourites,  some 
of  them  very  shabby.  Jim  selected  one  of  the  shabbiest. 
It  bore  on  its  cover  the  name  of  Fenimore  Cooper; 
and  because  the  stirring  simple  narrative  had  thrilled 


64  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

his  youth,  Jim  felt  that  it  would  suffice  to  distract  his 
manhood.  With  the  certainty  of  long  practice,  he 
opened  to  page  eighteen,  where  the  actual  story  began, 
and  plunged  into  the  opening  paragraph. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Jim  yawned,  stretched,  .and  put 
down  the  book.  The  charm  had  worked  so  well  that 
he  forgot  at  first  why  he  had  had  recourse  to  it.  When 
he  remembered,  he  grinned.  A  woman  had  never  yet 
hurt  him;  yet  here  he  had  acted  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  Zoe  Lenox.  Idiot!  Why  hadn't  he  stayed  in  the 
country  to-day,  and  perhaps  gone  sailing  with  her  again  ? 
She  was  wonderful  to  go  sailing  with:  yesterday  she 
had  given  him  a  heavenly  morning.  He  would  in  all 
probability  never  see  her  again;  he  ought  to  have  pro- 
longed his  fleeting  association  with  her  when  he  could 
so  well.  Idiot,  idiot!  to  throw  away  his  chance  of  an- 
other such  divine  quarter  of  an  hour  for  the  sake  of  a 
safety  that  wasn't  even  menaced. 

His  vision  of  a  house  on  a  hill  recurred  at  intervals 
during  the  next  few  days.  He  finally  got  rid  of  it  by  ex- 
panding the  house  into  a  marble  palace  surrounded  with 
formal  gardens,  such  as  Zoe  Lenox  should  have  for 
background.  Whereupon,  in  its  manifest  unfitness  to 
Jim  Whittaker — it  was  superbly  beyond  his  means — 
the  whole  structure  of  his  dream  collapsed:  Jim's  pri- 
vate House  of  Usher  went  splashing  into  the  pool. 

A  week  after  his  return  from  the  Evingtons',  his  mail 
one  morning  brought  a  communication  addressed  in  an 
unfamiliar  hand.  Jim,  without  premonition,  slit  the  en- 
velope; he  was  whistling  in  early  morning  cheerfulness 
as  he  withdrew  the  folded  sheet.  He  glanced  over  it, 
and  whistled  with  a  different  emphasis. 

It  was  a  letter  from  Zoe  Lenox;  more  than  that,  it 


WELL-LAID  PLANS  65 

was  an  invitation.  In  her  very  clear  hand,  and  very 
briefly,  she  told  him  that  the  yacht  Helga  was  perfectly 
satisfactory,  and  that  she  planned  to  take  her  on  her 
first  real  cruise.  "Down  the  coast  of  your  charming 
America,  past  Mexico,  over  the  line  and  down  the  coast 
of  South  America,  if  we  all  like  it,"  she  gave  as  her 
route.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evington  were  coming  with  her. 
Would  Jim  like  to  go,  and  have  his  maiden  experience 
of  a  cruise  ?  The  Helga  would  sail  in  a  week.  She  her- 
self had  gone  into  the  Adirondacks  for  a  last  look  at 
them,  and  could  be  addressed * 

"It  isn't  an  invitation,"  said  Jim  to  himself.  "It's  a 
royal  command." 

He  laid  the  letter  down  on  his  desk,  and  sat  staring 
at  it.  His  face  hardened  a  little  as  he  stared.  "I  should 
like  to  go  cruising  with  you,  Zoe  Lenox,"  he  said  half 
aloud.  "I  should  like  it  very  much  indeed." 

When  his  partner  came  in  half  an  hour  later  he  was 
still  sitting  and  staring.  Jim  turned  at  his  step. 
"Stephen,"  he  said  deliberately,  "I  think  I'll  take  a  va- 
cation." 

"Do  you  mean  you  want  to  go  now?"  asked  the  crisp 
alert  Stephen. 

"In  a  week  or  so,"  said  Jim.  "Is  there  any  reason 
why  I  can't?" 

"The  business  can  spare  you  as  well  now  as  any  time, 
I  suppose,"  answered  Stephen.  "I  think  you  do  need 
a  re"st;  you're  looking  a  little  seedy.  Have  you  any- 
thing particular  in  view?" 

"I  think  of  going  for  a  cruise  on  a  silver  ship,"  said 
Jim  gravely. 

"With  a  crew  of  angels?"  asked  his  partner. 

"With  a  single  nymph  would  appeal  to  me  more,"  an- 
swered Jim. 


66  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"With  a  chaperone?"  pursued  the  other. 

"With  two  chaperones,"  said  Jim  promptly.  "When 
I  say  nymph,  Stephen,  you  are  not  to  think  it  is  a 
euphemism  for  improper  person." 

Stephen  was  so  used  to  Jim's  nonsense  that  he  could 
swim  along  in  the  current.  "Better  wed  the  nymph, 
and  make  it  a  honeymoon  cruise,"  he  suggested  to  round 
off  the  subject. 

He  had  no  idea  that  there  was  any  meaning  behind 
Jim's  nonsense;  but  after  he  had  left  the  office  Jim  sat 
and  soberly  considered  whether  he  should  go  on  the 
proposed  cruise.  There  were  many  things  to  be  said 
in  favour  of  going:  he  had  no  other  plans  for  a  vaca- 
tion, and  he  would  get  a  good  rest  and  some  novel  ex- 
perience. The  reasons  against  going  seemed  to  sum 
themselves  up  in  one:  nymphs  were  dangerous  to  a 
man's  peace  of  mind.  But  that  reason  against  was  what 
finally  decided  Jim  for  going.  If  a  man  were  to  pussy- 
foot through  the  world,  scenting  danger  around  every 
corner — or  in  the  presence  of  every  pretty  woman — he 
might  as  well  give  up  at  once  trying  to  be  a  man,  and 
climb  permanently  into  a  bath-chair. 

With  his  own  hand,  in  characters  big  with  decision, 
Jim  thanked  Miss  Lenox  for  her  invitation,  and  ac- 
cepted it.  He  addressed  the  envelope,  and  looked  at 
her  name  in  his  own  writing.  Then  he  turned  and 
looked  out  of  the  window:  warmth  suffused  him  from 
head  to  foot.  For  a  long  time  he  sat  so,  with  actuality 
a  thousand  miles  away  from  him.  All  he  saw  was 
sun-glints  on  water ;  all  he  heard  was  wind  and  the  slap- 
ping of  waves  against  a  boat.  What  he  felt  he  couldn't 
have  said  himself.  But  he  faced  about  finally  with  a 
conscious  grin,  and  muttered,  "I  think  I'm  beginning 
already."  But  his  last  saving  remnant  of  discretion 


WELL-LAID  PLANS  67 

had  gone;  for  he  sent  his  stenographer  at  once  to  mail 
his  note,  so  that  he  wouldn't  think  better  of  the  matter 
and  perhaps  change  his  mind  about  going. 

He  had  all  that  week  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  is 
taking  delicious  risks ;  his  inner  being  was  at  once  braced 
and  warmed  by  the  sensation.  And  because  he  knew 
that  he  was  actually  taking  no  risk  worth  mentioning, 
he  had  also  the  feeling  that  he  was  buying  his  delicious 
sensations  cheap.  So  he  could  at  once  enjoy  himself 
and  laugh  at  himself:  could  know  at  once  the  ^elf-satis- 
faction of  a  wise  man  and  the  headlong  pleasure  of  a 
fool. 

The  week  was  outwardly  a  full  one.  There  were  sev- 
eral business  matters  to  be  settled  before  Jim  could 
leave  with  a  clear  conscience;  and  when  he  wasn't  at- 
tending to  business,  there  were  things  to  be  bought. 
Clothes,  of  course,  and  books,  equally  of  course;  this 
would  surely  be  a  great  opportunity  to  read  those  things 
one  had  always  intended  to  read,  and  had  always  de- 
ferred for  lack  of  leisure.  Dinners  took  two  evenings, 
and  a  fraternity  reunion  another.  He  had  intended  to 
run  out  to  the  Evingtons'  for  a  night,  to  talk  over  the 
proposed  trip;  but  late  afternoon  of  the  last  day  found 
him  with  that  still  undone,  and  his  packing  all  to  do. 
So  he  telephoned  Stuart  instead.  They  would  see  each 
other  the  next  day,  on  board  the  Helga. 

In  his  flat  that  evening  Jim  ignored  his  empty  trunk, 
and  sat  down  to  reread  his  second  note  from  Zoe.  She 
was  staying  in  the  Adirondacks  until  the  last  moment, 
she  told  him :  Zoe,  too,  he  would  not  see  until  they  were 
on  board  the  Helga.  He  might  make  his  own  arrange- 
ments for  going  aboard,  she  told  him;  then  he  could  go 
whenever  he  liked,  even  the  day  before,  if  he  wished  to. 
She  herself  would  probably  not  come  on  board  until  the 


68  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

last  minute;  the  Evingtons  were  to  board  on  the  last 
afternoon.  She  went  on  to  give  directions  for  reaching 
the  Helga:  her  letter  would  occupy  a  place  of  reference, 
if  not  indeed  of  honour,  in  Jim's  pocket  until  he  was 
actually  aboard. 

Jim  was  alone,  and  rather  tired ;  and  the  flat  was  very 
quiet.  Those  facts  together  might  account  for  the  sink- 
ing feeling  he  had  as  he  sat  there  with  Zoe's  letter  in  his 
hand.  The  woman  took  a  great  deal  for  granted;  and 
he  was  horrified  to  find  how  little  he  resented  her  taking 
things  for  granted.  He  ought  to  have  at  least  slightly 
resented  her  tone  of  royal  command;  he  needn't  have 
showed  resentment,  but  he  was  dismayed  not  to  feel  it. 
How  long  had  he  been  a  door-mat  of  a  man? 

He  actually  went  so  far  as  to  rise  and  look  at  him- 
self in  the  mirror  of  his  dresser.  He  looked  reassur- 
ingly unlike  a  door-mat;  and  when  he  saw  the  familiar 
reflected  visage,  good-tempered,  controlled,  sufficiently 
assertive  and  unhesitatingly  masculine,  Jim  began  to 
grin  at  himself.  In  view  of  the  Jim  Whittaker  who 
had  stared  back  at  him  shaving  so  many  mornings,  pre- 
luding well-ordered  days,  he  wondered  what  on  earth 
he  had  been  shivering  about.  Zoe  Lenox  wouldn't  bite 
him,  certainly ;  and  why  should  he  suppose  that  his  spirit 
was  any  more  vulnerable  than  his  physique  ? 

He  stowed  things  away  in  his  trunk,  whistling  to  him- 
self the  while.  Then  he  telephoned  to  his  oldest  brother ; 
then,  feeling  hungry  after  his  exertions,  he  went  out  and 
had  something  to  eat.  When  he  came  back  he  purposed 
going  to  bed;  instead  he  sat  and  smoked,  and  tried  to 
rid  himself  of  his  silly,  ghastly  feeling  that  he  was  on 
the  eve  of  some  crisis. 

Of  course  it  must  spring  in  some  way  from  his  nerves, 
this  idiotic  feeling;  but  he  couldn't  altogether  lose  it. 


WELL-LAID  PLANS  69 

He  felt — yes,  that  was  it — as  if  there  were  thunder  in 
the  air;  and  yet  the  evening  was  cool  and  lovely.  "Per- 
haps it's  only  the  prospect  of  change,  and  of  the  un- 
known, the  sea  and  its  life,"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  a 
break  in  my  routine  upsets  me  this  way,  though,  it's 
high  time  I  had  a  change.  Perhaps  I'm  really  not  very 
fit." 

With  a  determined  materialism,  he  laid  all  his  dis- 
turbance to  that:  he  wasn't  feeling  fik^'A  month  of 
loafing  and  reading,  and  bridge  with  the  Evihgtons" — 
he  spoke  as  if  bridge  were  always  a  three-handed 
game — "a  month  of  that  will  put  me  right  as  right." 

He  went  to  bed  late,  and  slept  longer  than  he  had  in- 
tended :  he  was  to  board  the  Helga  at  noon.  Well,  that 
abridged  leave-takings;  and  man-like  Jim  hated  leave- 
takings.  However,  he  actually  performed  only  one ;  for 
after  breakfasting  heartily,  so  that  it  wouldn't  matter  if 
he  missed  lunch,  he  sent  his  luggage  on  ahead  and 
stopped  at  his  office. 

With  the  true  American  instinct  for  never  admitting 
that  any  occasion  approaches  the  solemn,  Jim  shook 
hands  with  his  office  force,  and  reserved  his  one  speech 
for  his  partner.  It  was  neither  a  long  speech  nor  an 
impressive.  "Take  care  of  yourself,  and  try  to  behave," 
he  said.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  month,  you  know.  Good- 
bye." 

The  office  door  closed  behind  him;  his  taxicab  bore 
him  away.  Jim  Whittaker  was  off  on  the  longest  and 
most  momentous  month  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  GANGING  A-GI,EY 

T  TNCONSCIOUS  of  her  destiny,  the  yacht  Helga 
^  rode  at  her  moorings.  All  about  her  things 
gleamed  ancl  shone;  she  waited  like  a  bride  on  her  wed- 
ding day.  Jim  Whittaker,  approaching,  was  thrilled  by 
the  sight.  Lightly  as  a  bubble  the  Helga  rode  the  waves ; 
but  he  imagined  her  electric  with  her  impulse  to  be  off. 

A  pale-faced  deferential  person  came  running  up  to 
Jim  as  he  boarded.  The  pale-faced  person  wore  a  white 
coat,  and  was,  Jim  supposed,  the  steward;  at  least,  he 
didn't  look  like  a  maritime  character,  aside  from  his 
coat. 

"Miss  Lenox  hasn't  come  on  board  yet,"  said  this  per- 
son. "We  expect  her  at  almost  any  moment,  but  she 
sent  word  to  make  you  comfortable  if  she  was  detained. 
You  are  Mr.  Whittaker,  sir?" 

Jim  admitted  it. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  your  state-room,  sir  ?"  asked 
the  deferential  one. 

Jim  followed  him  along  an  immaculate  deck,  on  which 
it  seemed  almost  sacrilegious  to  tread,  into  the  desig- 
nated state-room.  It  was  a  beautiful  little  room,  with 
ivory-tinted  furniture,  and  a  neat  space  provided  for 
everything,  from  Jim's  trunk  down.  A  diminutive  pri- 
vate bath,  perfect  even  to  the  shower,  opened  off  it. 
Over  all  presided  the  miraculous  neatness  of  a  new  ship 

70 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  71 

in  port.  A  month  in  such  quarters  as  these  wouldn't  be 
bad.  , 

The  steward  hovered  near.  "Have  you  lunched,  sir?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Jim.  "Bring  me  a  cup  of  tea,  though,  if 
you  will." 

He  drank  his  tea,  and  ate  some  biscuits;  then  he 
changed  his  clothes,  and  emerged  on  deck.  Already  he 
wasn't  afraid  to  walk  the  deck ;  in  a  few  minutes  he  had 
come  to  take  pleasure  in  doing  so.  He  walked  it  for 
some  minutes,  casting  occasional  proud  glances  at  the 
land ;  already  the  land  had  become  alien  to  him.  Indeed, 
it  was  almost  beneath  his  notice  as  a  seagoing  person. 

A  young  man  in  uniform  stopped  him  presently,  and 
introduced  himself.  He  was  Mr.  Masterson,  the  mate. 
He  took  Jim  up  to  the  captain,  and  introduced  him. 
Then  he  asked  if  Jim  would  like  to  see  the  ship. 

"Would  it  be  good  sea-going  etiquette  for  me  to  prowl 
about  before  the  rest  of  the  party  comes  aboard  ?"  asked 
Jim,  smiling. 

Mr.  Masterson  looked  gravely  back  at  him.  He  was 
a  smooth-shaven,  blue-eyed  chap,  about  Jim's  own 
height;  he  would  have  been  handsome  if  he  had  not 
looked  so  sullen.  His  stare  lasted  so  long  that  it  made 
Jim  uncomfortable.  When  he  finally  opened  his  mouth 
it  was  only  to  say,  "At  least  you  might  see  the  saloons, 
Mr.  Whittaker.  If  Miss  Lenox  spends  the  whole  after- 
noon on  shore,  you'll  get  tired  of  the  deck." 

"That  seems  a  happy  compromise,"  said  Jim.  "I  will 
see  the  saloons,  and  no  more."  , 

The  saloons  were  in  the  after  part  of  the  ship,  it  ap- 
peared. The  forward  and  smaller  would  have  been  a 
dining-room  on  shore.  A  white  table  was  hung  from 
chains  in  the  centre;  the  chairs  were  of  white  wood  and 


72  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

cane.  In  cupboards  about  the  walls  could  be  glimpsed 
blue  and  white  dishes.  A  long  receptacle  in  one  corner 
was  filled  with  flowering  plants,  and  above  it  hung  a  cage 
of  bright-coloured  birds.  Pushed  into  one  corner  was 
a  tea-wagon  with  a  device  for  anchoring  it  in  place,  a 
"brake,"  Jim  called  it:  the  maritime  character  of  this 
piece  of  furniture  appealed  strongly  to  him. 

The  after  saloon  kept  to  white  furniture,  too,  but  failed 
to  echo  the  blue  of  the  dining-room.  There  were  moss- 
green  rugs  on  the  floor,  and  the  cushions  were  green  and 
gold.  A  white  and  gold  piano  stood  near  the  stern  end 
—or  should  one  say  stood,  when  it  was  obviously  fas- 
tened there?  Opposite,  in  front  of  a  delightful  fire- 
place, was  a  high  wooden  settle ;  nearby  was  a  little  writ- 
ing-table, with  stationery  marked  "Yacht  Helga,"  just 
as  if  a  yacht  were  solid  like  a  residence  or  a  business 
house,  instead  of  a  bubble  ready  to  burst  when  one 
drew  a  long  breath. 

Thus  far  Jim  progressed  under  guidance  of  Mr.  Mas- 
terson ;  but  Mr.  Masterson  seemed  of  a  sudden  to  weary 
in  showing  the  conveniences  of  a  ship's  saloon.  "If  you 
really  don't  care  to  go  over  the  rest  of  the  ship,  I'll  leave 
you  here,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  he  said.  "There's  plenty 
here  to  read;  and  there  are  chairs  on  deck,  if  you  prefer 
that." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jim.  "I'll  look  for  something  to 
read." 

When  he  was  alone  Jim  did  in  fact  turn  his  attention 
to  the  books,  both  for  their  own  sake  and  to  see  what 
Zoe  liked  in  the  way  of  books.  There  were  book-cases 
of  varying  heights  all  the  way  around  the  room;  strips 
of  wood  at  top  and  bottom  served  to  hold  the  volumes 
in  place.  Miss  Lenox  seemed  to  have  a  catholic  taste. 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  73 

to  which  neither  subject  nor  language  was  barrier.  "If 
she  actually  reads  all  these "  thought  Jim. 

Between  windows  and  book-cases,  there  wasn't  much 
room  left  for  pictures.  There  were,  however,  in  a  cor- 
ner by  themselves,  several  framed  photographs  of  ships; 
on  the  deck  of  one  Zoe  herself  could  be  descried.  And 
there  were  three  paintings :  a  grey-green  landscape  hazy 
with  mystic  brush-work,  a  Winslow  Homer  seascape 
with  a  characteristic  lifting  composition,  and,  over  the 
mantel-piece,  a  portrait  of  a  grey-haired  man. 

Jim  hadn't  noticed  that  picture  at  first;  but  when  at 
length  he  did,  he  wondered  how  he  could  for  a  moment 
have  been  blind  to  it.  It  dominated  the  room,  and  the 
longer  he  looked  at  it  the  more  it  dominated.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  subject;  the  placing  of  the 
picture  would  have  decided  that,  even  if  it  hadn't  borne 
a  certain  resemblance  to  Zoe.  It  was  Dan  Lenox;  and 
it  must  have  been  a  very  good  picture,  for  it  fitted  with 
Lenox's  story  as  Jim  had  had  it  from  Evington.  The 
portrait  showed  a  man  advanced  in  years,  but  so  vigorous 
that  to  call  him  old  would  simply  have  been  to  show 
oneself  lacking  in  discernment;  he  had  a  long  straight 
nose,  a  powerful  jaw,  thick  upstanding  grey  hair  that  in 
itself  would  be  a  guarantee  of  virility  and  pugnacious- 
ness,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  signs  of  strength, 
acuteness  and  purpose,  deep-set  blue  eyes  that  seemed  to 
look  on  life  with  an  infinite  wistfulness. 

Jim  got  a  book,  and  established  himself  on  the  settle. 
He  looked  up  at  the  portrait  of  Dan  Lenox  more  than 
he  read;  but  he  read  for  some  time.  It  drew  toward 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon;  and  still  there  was  no  sign 
of  Miss  Lenox  or  the  Evingtons.  Jim  was  very  com- 
fortable; and  he  began  to  be  very  sleepy.  He  seemed 
always  to  be  sleepy  when  Zoe  approached;  or  was  it 


74  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

simply  that  her  presence  or  too  much  thought  of  her 
robbed  him  of  his  rightful  rest?  At  any  rate,  he  dozed 
for  a  few  minutes,  returning  once  or  twice  to  his  book ; 
and  then  he  frankly  slept. 

Just  as  he  dozed  off  the  last  time  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  saw  Zoe  flash  past  the  window,  accompanied  by 
her  maid;  and  he  thought  vaguely  that  the  Evingtons 
must  be  there,  too,  and  that  he  ought  to  get  up  and  go 
out  to  them.  But  he  was  already  too  far  gone;  his  ef- 
fort to  rouse  himself  only  slid  him  deeper  into  all-en- 
veloping sleep. 

He  woke  with  a  feeling  that  he  had  slept  for  a  long 
time.  As  his  eyes  opened  he  was  aware  of  Zoe  Lenox's 
maid,  standing  and  peering  down  at  him  through  a  dusk 
much  her  own  colour.  He  knew  then  where  he  was:  in 
the  Evingtons'  hall,  waiting  for  Zoe  to  come  down- 
stairs. 

A  moment  later  he  was  alone;  and  he  became  aware 
that  the  whole  hall  was  vibrating  like  a  ship  under  way. 
Then  suddenly  Jim  jumped  to  his  feet.  He  wasn't  at  the 
Evingtons'  at  all;  he  was  on  Zoe  Lenox's  yacht,  with 
the  Evingtons  aboard;  and  he  had  slept  oaf-like  so  long 
that  the  yacht  had  left  her  anchorage,  and  the  cruise  had 
actually  begun. 

He  started  for  the  cabin  door;  and  just  before  he 
reached  it  the  light  above  his  head  was  turned  on;  Zoe 
herself  stood  on  the  threshold.  For  a  moment  they  con- 
fronted each  other  thus,  much  as  they  had  over  the  rocky 
palisade  at  the  Evingtons';  and  to  Jim's  not  yet  thor- 
oughly awakened  senses  it  seemed  as  if  something  of  the 
same  startled  expression  crossed  her  face. 

"You  didn't  know  where  I  was?"  he  asked.  "Mr. 
Masterson  left  me  here;  and  while  I  was  waiting  I  went 
most  idiotically  to  sleep." 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  75 

"Mr.  Masterson  knew  you  were  on  board  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  He  and  the  captain,  and  your  steward.  Did 
you  think  I  was  lost?" 

"The  steward  is  an  idiot,"  remarked  Zoe,  "and  the 
captain  I  haven't  seen.  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of 
Mr.  Masterson." 

Her  unintentional  neglect  of  him /deemed  to  disturb 
her.  "Don't  think  anything  more  about  it,"  he  advised 
kindly.  "I  had  my  nap  out,  and  feel  the  better  for  it." 

Then  to  his  awakening  brain  it  occurred  that  it  was 
odd  of  her  to  order  the  cruise  started  if  she  didn't  know 
where  he  was,  and  wasn't  apparently  even  sure  that  he 
had  boarded.  "We  are  under  way,  aren't  we?"  he 
asked. 

"We  have  been  for  some  hours,"  said  Miss  Lenox, 
still  as  if  she  were  uneasy  about  something. 

"Where  are  June  and  Stuart?"  asked  Jim. 

"At  home,  of  course,"  replied  Miss  Lenox. 

Jim  stared  in  amazement.  "At  home  ?  But  they  were 
to  be  here!  How—?  Why ?" 

"Didn't  you  get  my  telegram  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  haven't  had  any  telegram.  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me ?" 

"Mr.  Evington  telegraphed  this  morning.  One  of  the 
children  was  taken  sick  suddenly,  and  Mrs.  Evington 
wouldn't  leave  her.  Of  course  he  wouldn't  come  with- 
out his  wife,  so  they  telegraphed  that  I  wasn't  to  expect 
them.  I  telegraphed  their  message  on  to  you." 

"And  it  never  came,"  concluded  Jim. 

He  was  silent,  striving  to  appreciate  the  enormity  of 
the  situation  that  had  thus  come  about,  wondering  what 
the  easiest  way  out  would  be.  The  yacht  under  way,  and 
he  and  Zoe  its  only  passengers — !  As  he  grew  uneasy, 
however,  Zoe's  perplexity  seemed  to  vanish.  "I  hope 


76  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

that  Mr.  Masterson's  neglect  to  tell  me  you  were  here 
didn't  mean  he  isn't  over  his  shore  drunk,"  she  remarked 
in  passing.  "He  has  always  been  perfectly  sober  on 
ship-board,  but  his  reputation  for  shore  behaviour  isn't 
the  best." 

"You  know  him  of  old  ?"  Jim  asked. 

"Oh,  yes !  He  has  been  with  me  for  some  time ;  and 
the  captain  was  in  Dad's  employ  before  he  was  in  mine. 
Nine  years,  he  has  been  with  us."  She  glanced  at  the 
watch  on  her  wrist.  "I  am  hungry;  I'm  glad  to  see  it's 
nearly  dinner  time,"  she  remarked.  "And  I'm  glad  you 
are  here,  Mr.  Whittaker;  now  I  shall  have  some  one  to 
talk  to  during  dinner." 

"Just  where  are  we,  geographically  speaking?"  asked 
Jim. 

"Somewhere  off  the  coast  of  New  Jersey,  I  think.  My 
notions  of  American  geography  aren't  as  clear  as  they 
might  be,  all  things  considered." 

Jim  was  hungry,  fearfully  hungry,  in  fact.  He  didn't 
know  what  he  ought  to  do  about  his  position  on  board 
the  Helga:  get  himself  put  back  on  land  as  quickly  as 
possible,  he  supposed.  But  it  wouldn't  be  sensible  to 
land  fasting;  and  now  that  she  had  mentioned  dinner 
he  found  that  his  ravenous  hunger  was  for  the  moment 
more  distressing  than  his  anomalous  position.  "What 
costume  is  de  rigueur  for  dinner  on  board  your  yacht?" 
he  asked. 

"In  port  I  often  dress  for  dinner.  On  a  cruise  I 
don't;  to-night  I  shall  keep  on  what  I  am  wearing." 

At  that  he  looked  to  see  what  she  was  wearing,  and 
discovered  that  it  was  a  white  cloth  suit,  very  plain  and 
very  jaunty;  a  little  white  hat  was  pulled  down  so  far 
on  her  head  that  it  almost  concealed  her  hair.  Jim  was 
conscious  of  acute  regret  that  he  wasn't  going  to  make 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  77 

this  cruise  with  her :  he  had  a  feeling  that  to  cruise  with 
her  was  to  see  a  Zoe  such  as  he  had  sailed  with  that 
magic  morning  in  the  stolen  boat,  not  a  Zoe  on  dress 
parade;  he  was  sure  that  between  the  two  was  a  liberal 
difference,  worth  a  man's  while  to  investigate. 

"I'll  go  and  brush  up  a  bit,"  he  saidl          , 

When  he  returned  a  few  minutes  later,  Zoe  was  wait- 
ing for  him.  She  had  broken  her  word  to  the  extent 
of  removing  her  hat  and  coat;  for  the  latter  she  had 
substituted  a  long  white  coat  with  a  fur  collar,  unbut- 
toned over  a  lace  blouse.  Bare-headed,  she  sat  down 
opposite  him  at  a  little  table  lighted  with  pink  candles, 
arranged  in  a  sheltered  spot  on  deck. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  his  uncomfortable  sensation  of 
not  knowing  just  where  he  was  nor  on  what  footing  he 
stood,  Jim  would  thoroughly  have  enjoyed  that  dinner. 
Zoe  did  enjoy  it.  She  was  back  upon  her  native  ele- 
ment, with  the  prospect  of  months  of  it  ahead;  more- 
over, she  was  dining  for  the  first  time  on  the  yacht 
Helga,  now  regularly  beginning  an  ocean  cruise. 

After  the  first  course  or  two  of  the  excellent  dinner 
she  talked  at  some  length,  first  of  books,  and  then  of 
pictures.  She  described  the  collection  that  her  father 
had  left  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  and  some 
pictures  that  she  herself  had  bought.  "I  got  two  lovely 
Vandykes  a  year  ago,"  she  related.  "But  I  think  I  care 
more  for  the  moderns,  and  prefer  landscape  and  sea- 
scape to  pictures  of  people.  My  father  would  be  horri- 
fied to  hear  me  say  that;  he  knew  too  much  about  pic- 
tures to  judge  them  by  their  subjects." 

"Your  father  was  a  wonderful  connoisseur,  wasn't 
he?"  asked  Jim. 

"I  suppose  so.     I  don't  like,  though,  to  hear  him  de- 


78  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

scribed  by  such  a  finicking  word.  I  have,"  said  Miss 
Lenox,  "known  too  many  connoisseurs." 

"You  can't  carry  many  paintings  on  board  a  ship,  can 
you?"  suggested  Jim. 

"No.    I  miss  them,  to  a  certain  extent,"  she  answered. 

"Of  course,  you  have  always  the  sea,"  said  Jim. 

"Yes,  and  I  care  more  for  the  sea  than  for  pictures. 
But  you  don't  think,  do  you,  that  I  consider  the  sea 
picturesque  ?" 

"Personally,  I  consider  it  rather  monotonous,"  Whit- 
taker  admitted. 

"So  it  is.  When  you  find  any  one  who  says  it's  pic- 
turesque, or  whose  admiration  for  it  isn't  more  than 
half  habit,  and  a  solid  quarter  terror,  you'll  find,  Mr. 
Whittaker,  some  one  who  has  admired  the  sea  from  the 
land  only." 

"You  feel  terror  of  it?"  asked  Jim. 

"Not  patently,  perhaps;  but  underneath,  it  is  always 

there.  Now  of  men  who  have  painted  the  sea, "  she 

went  on. 

After  dinner  they  took  a  turn  about  the  deck,  and 
stood  for  a  time  looking  out  over  the  ocean.  It  was  a 
fine  night,  with  stars  but  no  moon ;  an  antic  wind  stirred 
Zoe's  hair,  and  blew  loose  locks  of  it  in  her  face.  They 
stood  together,  motionless  and  in  silence;  it  seemed  to 
Jim  as  if  the  Helga  were  a  sentient  thing,  bearing  them 
along  thus;  but  as  if  neither  he  nor  Zoe  had  strength 
or  volition. 

She  finally  moved,  however,  and  he  followed  her  into 
the  saloon.  She  sat  down  near  the  fireplace,  where 
a  small  blaze  glowed,  and  warmed  one  foot;  presently 
she  yawned  slightly.  It  was  for  all  the  world  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  him;  and  although  normally  it  might  be 
altogether  possible  for  her  to  forget  Jim  Whittaker,  her 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  79 

doing  so  at  the  present  moment  struck  him  as  actually 
uncanny. 

When  he  had  waited  some  time  for  her  to  break 
the  silence,  and  she  did  not,  Jim  himself  spoke,  "What," 
he  asked,  "are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"Do  with  you?"  She  turned  toward  him,  tyiitted  her 
brows,  seemed  trying  to  collect  her  wits. 

"Do  with  me.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  the  party  has 
been  broken  up,  and  I  am  here  only  by  an  idiotic  fluke, 
I'd  like  to  know,"  Jim  stated  clearly,  "what  you  propose 
to  do  with  me." 

"Well,  I  should  hardly  care  to  make  you  walk  the 
plank,  or  anything  like  that,  just  to  be  rid  of  you.  What 
would  you  yourself  like  to  have  me  do?"  she  asked. 

Jim  had  supposed  that  she  would  offer  either  to  have 
the  Helga  take  him  back  to  New  York,  or  the  launch 
land  him  at  the  nearest  point  on  the  coast.  As  it  didn't 
seem  to  occur  to  her  that  one  or  the  other  was  the  only 
thing  to  do,  Jim  hesitated  to  propose  either.  It  wouldn't 
do  to  ask  to  be  treated  as  if  one  had  small-pox. 

"You  can  land  me  somewhere,"  he  suggested.  "Any- 
where that  you  find  it  convenient  to  land  me." 

She  nodded.  "You  intend  to  be  away  from  home  for 
some  time,  don't  you?  Perhaps  I  can  take  you  some- 
where where  you  would  like  to  spend  your  vacation,"  she 
said. 

After  all,  she  treated  it  very  sensibly;  she  braced  Jim 
to  treat  the  matter  sensibly  too.  "That  would  be  fine," 
he  said  heartily. 

"Very  well.  That  is  what  we  will  do.  Where,"  asked 
Miss  Lenox,  "would  you  like  to  go?" 

"We  are  headed  south?"  asked  Jim. 

She  nodded.     "To  Florida?"  she  suggested. 


80  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"This  is  the  wrong  time  of  year  to  go  to  Florida. 
People  are  all  leaving  there  now,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  that's  true.  If  you  are  going  south  in  search 
of  a  cool  place,  South  America  will  be  the  nearest,"  she 
said. 

Did  she  suggest  South  America  in  derision?  Jim 
looked  hard  at  her;  but  there  was  no  hint  of  derision  in 
her  look  or  tone.  "I  have  never  been  in  South  America," 
he  said  slowly. 

"Then  go.  You  will  find  it  a  very  interesting  coun- 
try," said  Miss  Lenox  heartily.  "We  can  put  in  at 
several  places,  you  know ;  and  you  may  choose  your  own 
climate." 

It  seemed  to  Jim  that  she  spoke  to  him  quite  simply, 
and  as  a  man  might  to  another  man.  He  ha'd  one  last 
moment's  hesitation  over  that;  he  was  old  enough  to 
know  that  there  is  danger  in  a  woman  who  can  speak  to 
a  man  as  another  man  might. 

Then  in  a  flash  he  perceived  that  Zoe  indeed  spoke  sim- 
ply to  him ;  but  it  was  by  virtue  of  her  limitations.  To  her 
who  had  lived  so  long  among  men,  who  had  been  actually 
cradled  by  men  in  that  wild  East,  to  her  who  was  the 
daughter  of  such  a  man  as  Dan  Lenox,  what  did  the 
presence  aboard  the  Helga  of  a  Jim  Whittaker  more  or 
less  signify?  And  what  chance  was  there  of  Jim  Whit- 
taker's  ever  disturbing  her  peace  of  mind,  who  was  also 
the  daughter  of  the  pale  Helga,  and  whose  icy  heart 
Grand  Dukes,  and  perhaps  principalities  and  powers  un- 
guessed,  had  never  been  able  to  melt? 

If  she  had  been  a  human  woman,  she  would  never 
have  talked  so  to  him.  If  she  had  been  even  human 
enough  to  consider  questions  of  propriety — no,  he  was 
glad  she  wasn't  just  human  enough  for  that.  If  she 
couldn't  be  altogether  human,  and  a  woman,  Jim  was 


THE  GANGING  A-GLEY  81 

glad  that  she  was  altogether  remote,  and  hedged  by  nega- 
tions, and  a  goddess.  And  her  remoteness  guaranteed 
not  only  her  own  peace  of  mind  but  his  as  well. 

Whittaker  drew  a  long  breath.  "It  is  most  kind  of 
you  to  offer,"  he  said.  "I  shall  let  you  put  me  ashore 
somewhere  in  South  America." 

"Good!  I  know  you  will  enjoy  South  America,"  re- 
plied Miss  Lenox.  "The  voyage  will  be  pleasanter  for 
you  in  some  ways  than  if  you  were  in  a  steamer.  You 
won't  be  in  my  way,"  she  assured  him  kindly,  "and 
when  you  are  bored  with  my  society  you  can  talk  to  the 
officers  or  the  men.  You  will  find  the  captain  very 
pleasant,  I  think,  in  an  old-saltish  way.  The  mate,  if 
not  communicative,  is  at  least  receptive;  the  mate  is 
English." 

"Is  he  all  right  to-night?"  asked  Jim,  alluding  to  an 
earlier  remark  of  hers  about  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Um — m — m.  He  will  be  in  the  morning,"  said  Miss 
Lenox  calmly. 

Having  put  everything  straight,  she  took  her  well- 
earned  recreation  at  the  piano.  She  played  for  a  long 
time  that  evening;  and  Jim  sat  near  the  piano  in  a  low 
chair,  and  listened.  Sometimes  he  watched  her  hands 
move  over  the  keys ;  sometimes  he  looked  at  her  profile, 
crowned  by  golden  hair  that  was  always  brightest  under 
artificial  light — some  blonde  hair  'was  like  that.  Once 
or  twice  he  looked  up  at  the  big  picture  of  Zoe's  father, 
there  in  the  other  end  of  the  saloon;  and  idly  he  remem- 
bered how  dead  Dan  Lenox  had  voyaged  with  his 
shadowy  Helga  in  the  dim  past  when,  strange  thought, 
that  dim  past  was  a  throbbing  now. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HEXGA  VOYAGES   SOUTHWARD 

JIM  emerged  next  day  into  a  sparkling  morning.  Light 
had  revealed  the  fact  that  they  were  out  of  sight  of 
land;  and  the  Helga  scudded  merrily  along  through  the 
dancing  water.  There  were  a  lot  of  little  fleecy  clouds 
in  the  sky;  and  they  were  all  going  the  same  way  as  the 
Helga.  Companioned  by  the  clouds,  and  with  the  oppos- 
ing water  rushing  by  on  either  hand,  the  gull-like  yacht 
bore  to  the  south. 

It  was  the  sort  of  morning,  it  seemed  to  Jim,  when  you 
couldn't  help  expecting  things  to  happen.  Zoe,  how- 
ever, appeared  to  feel  no  stir,  actual  or  anticipatory. 
She  came  on  deck  about  ten  o'clock,  was  arranged  in  a 
chair  by  her  maid,  and  opened  a  book.  Then,  recalling 
that  she  was  a  hostess,  she  sent  her  maid  to  find  Jim. 

When  he  was  convoyed  before  her  Miss  Lenox  raised 
her  eyes,  nodded  "Good-morning,"  and  asked,  "Have 
you  seen  the  ship?" 

"No.  I  haven't  yet  had  an  opportunity,"  answered 
Jim. 

"I  thought  not."  She  seemed  to  measure  the  deck  with 
her  eye;  Jim  supposed  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  of- 
fering to  rise  and  escort  him.  But  she  thought  better  of 
it,  and  said,  "I  shall  ask  Mr.  Masterson  to  take  you 
over,  I  think." 

So  in  the  end  Jim  had  the  escort  he  had  refused  the 
day  before.  Mr.  Masterson,  very  erect,  with  a  frown  of 

82 


THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD   83 

ill-temper  imposed  upon  his  seaman's  scowl,  took  him 
over;  and  did  it  very  thoroughly.  In  face  of  the  sea- 
man's knowledge  of  the  ship,  Jim  felt  abysmally  igno- 
rant, and  very  humble ;  but  as  they  proceeded  he  gathered 
somehow  that  Mr.  Masterson's  scorn  was  not 'for  him: 
it  was  simply  the  man's  usual  attitude  toward  life.  Jim 
was  interested  to  note  that  in  spite  of  Mr.  Masterson's 
forbidding  manner  the  men  seemed  to  like  him. 

The  gull-like  yacht,  as  Jim  now  saw  her,  proved  to 
be  a  creature  made  for  use :  every  smallest  part  was  put 
cunningly  in  place,  not  for  looks,  but  to  serve  a  definite 
practical  end.  But  the  looks  were  there;  and  you  could 
no  more  nullify  the  Helga's  beauty  by  looking  too  closely 
upon  it  than  you  could  by  your  scrutiny  damage  the 
beauty  of  the  Helga's  mistress. 

Mr.  Masterson  finally  turned  Jim  over  to  the  captain ; 
and  in  his  company  Jim  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning. 
The  captain  was  a  florid  old  man  with  a  small  white 
beard,  who  looked  exactly  as  if  he  had  stepped  out  of 
some  sea-faring  romance.  If  Zoe  hadn't  told  him  that 
the  captain  had  once  been  with  her  father  Jim  would 
have  believed  that  he  was  selected  for  his  appearance. 
The  captain,  indeed,  soon  revealed  that  he  hadn't  been 
with  Mr.  Lenox  very  long;  he  had  captained  Miss  Len- 
ox's yachts,  however,  off  and  on  since  her  father's  death. 
She  had  twice  dismissed  him,  it  appeared,  and  had  twice 
made  overtures  to  him,  and  taken  him  back.  It  didn't 
do,  the  captain  averred,  to  place  too  much  reliance  on 
what  a  woman  said,  anyway:  they  weren't  in  the  habit 
of  knowing  their  own  minds.  He  spoke  from  experi- 
ence, having  a  wife  and  two  daughters  back  in  the 
States.  Having  struck  this  topic,  the  captain's  conver- 
sation flowed  inexhaustibly  on.  He  could  talk  all  day 


84  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

about  his  girls;  he  might  very  well  have  done  so,  if  the 
luncheon  hour  hadn't  intervened. 

Considering  how  much  he  had  seen  and  heard  that 
morning,  Jim  might  perhaps  have  been  satisfied,  for  a 
time  at  least.  But  he  wasn't.  He  wanted  to  see  more, 
to  hear  more :  all  topics  here  related  themselves  to  one 
fascinating  inscrutable  topic.  He  thirsted  for  informa- 
tion, if  he  were  not  to  have  the  relief  of  action. 

The  afternoon,  however,  proved  to  be  less  eventful 
than  the  morning.  Zoe  returned  after  lunch  to  her 
chair  and  her  book ;  alternately  she  read  and  watched  the 
sky  and  water.  Jim  tried  to  follow  her  example,  but 
could  not  settle  to  reading.  He  arose  and  prowled  about 
the  ship,  only  to  find  that  it  had  become  less  interesting 
since  morning.  By  tea-time  he  had  reached  the  point 
of  actual  irritability;  he  scarcely  knew  himself,  for  he 
was  not  by  nature  an  irritable  man.  "I  don't  think  this 
yachting  agrees  with  me,"  he  said  to  himself.  "How 
restless  I  am !" 

Miss  Lenox's  tea  was  taken  to  her  where  she  sat ;  and 
Jim  was  served  in  the  same  unsociable  way.  Jim 
groaned,  fidgeted,  wished  he  were  back  on  land;  he  be- 
gan to  wonder  how  long  it  would  be  before  the  yacht 
would  indeed  discharge  him  at  his  destination.  He  was 
bound,  he  supposed,  to  go  to  South  America;  but  the 
nearest  port  in  South  America  should  be  his  destination. 
What  in  thunder  was  the  nearest  port  in  South  America  ? 
Idiot !  He  couldn't  even  tell  where  he  was  going  without 
looking  in  the  atlas! 

Miss  Lenox  finished  her  tea,  closed  her  book,  and 
rose  from  her  chair;  she  advanced  down  the  deck  to 
where  Jim  sat,  and  stood  before  him.  In  the  sunlight 
of  late  afternoon  her  hair  burned  like  molten  metal ;  her 
voice  fell  cool  and  caressing  on  his  chafing  spirit.  "I 


THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD   85 

am  going  to  walk  for  a  time  now,"  she  said.  "Shouldn't 
you  like  to  walk  with  me?" 

A  moment  later  they  were  pacing  the  deck  shoulder 
to  shoulder.  As  on  that  Sunday  when  they  had  crossed 
the  lawn  at  the  Evingtons',  Jim  noted  that  her  shoulder 
was  almost  level  with  his;  and  her  stride  was  long  and 
lovely.  Her  hair  was  different,  though;  it  was  ar- 
ranged to-day  much  as  it  had  been  on  that  first  evening, 
instead  of  in  the  great  loose  knot  she  had  worn  when 
they  sailed  together  in  the  borrowed  boat.  It  was  parted 
in  the  middle  now,  and  arranged  artfully  and  very  com- 
pactly; one  great  coil  went  around  her  head,  and  there 
was  more  hair  close  packed  at  the  back  of  her  head  and 
behind  her  ears.  She  must  have  a  wonderful  amount 
of  hair;  and  as  she  was  so  tall,  she  probably  didn't  like 
to  wear  it  on  top  of  her  head.  But  if  this  were  her  us- 
ual arrangement,  day-time  as  well  as  evening,  why  had 
she  on  that  never  to  be  forgotten  morning  worn  it  in 
that  great  loose  knot? 

The  answer  was  simple  enough,  to  be  sure;  she  had 
undoubtedly  dressed  herself  that  morning,  and  had  done 
her  hair  as  best  she  could.  When  the  explanation  oc- 
curred to  him,  Jim  didn't  like  it  in  the  least.  To  be 
sure,  most  of  the  women  he  knew  couldn't  do  their  own 
hair  successfully;  but  then  they  weren't  daughters  of 
Dan  Lenox,  and  you  didn't  expect  much  of  them. 

Well,  the  original  Zoe  must  be  by  this  time  pretty 
much  overlaid  by  a  social  deposit.  She  had  lived  these 
last  several  years  as  the  daughter  of  a  moneyed  man, 
and  then  herself  as  a  woman  with  money;  you  could 
expect  her  to  have  all  the  habits,  and  almost  the  exact 
tone,  of  the  social  order  that  had  adopted  her.  She 
did  differ  from  it  in  some  ways,  to  be  sure,  and  you 
weren't  surprised  when  she  did:  it  had  never,  for  in- 


86  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

stance,  occurred  to  Jim  as  noteworthy  that  Zoe  hadn't 
somewhere  in  the  background  the  social  anchorage  of  an 
aunt  of  some  sort,  real  or  acquired.  She  had  enough 
originality,  or  a  sufficiently  strong  derivation  from  her 
early  environment,  to  carry  off  many  things  of  that  sort. 
What  bothered  Jim  was  that  she  had  so  few  to  carry  off. 
With  all  her  beauty,  and  in  spite  of  the  strangeness  of 
her  origin,  she  was  so  much  the  lady.  That  was  what 
Stuart  Evington  had  meant  by  his  complaint  that  she 
wasn't  human;  and  it  saddened  Jim  to  think  that  prob- 
ably Stuart  was  perfectly  right. 

This  was  a  mighty  meditation,  doubtless,  to  start  from 
the  arrangement  of  a  lady's  hair;  but  empires  have  been 
overthrown  for  less.  Attila  the  Hun  was  himself  over- 
come, Jim  seemed  to  remember,  by  that  very  thing :  was 
actually  strangled  by  the  long  fair  braids  of  a  German 
princess,  his  unwilling  bride.  That  German  princess 
must  have  had  hair  much  like  Zoe's,  long  and  heavy  and 
very  fair;  and  it  wound  about  and  about  the  throat  of 
the  Scourge  of  God,  and  smothered  the  life  that  had  it- 
self smothered  half  Europe.  Jim  could  fairly  imagine 
Zoe  as  that  German  princess;  yes,  could  indeed  imagine 
it.  Once  in  a  way  she  would  have  the  courage  for  a 
desperate  deed;  her  possible  negative-mindedness  and 
her  acquired  social  tone  had  not  so  completely  smothered 
the  original  Dan  Lenox  in  her  as  to  make  her  a  safe 
bride  for  an  Attila. 

"Did  you  succeed  in  reading  much  this  afternoon?" 
asked  the  putative  bride  of  Attila. 

Jim  started:  the  question  was  comically  out  of  keep- 
ing with  his  thoughts.  "No,  I  didn't,"  he  replied  after 
a  moment.  "I  haven't  mentally  got  my  sea-legs  yet." 

"I  have  read  most  of  the  day,"  she  informed  him — as 
if  he  hadn't  noticed  it. 


THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD        87 

"I  suppose  your  sea-attitude  comes  to  you  automati- 
cally?" he  suggested. 

"I  suppose  it  does,"  she  said. 

"Probably  I  shall  soon  begin  to  read,"  Jim  remarked. 
"I  know  I  always  read  a  good  deal  crossing  to  the  other 
side.  I  suppose  on  a  long  cruise  one  reads  proportion- 
ately more?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  she  said.  "I  do  most  of  my  read- 
ing on  shipboard,  I  know.  That  was  the  way  I  got  the 
larger  part  of  my  education.  My  father  was  constantly 
travelling  from  port  to  port,  and  he  always  took  me  with 
him.  He  used  to  have  great  boxes  of  books  sent  out  to 
us.  They  would  be  delivered  on  board  unopened ;  and  I 
would  open  them,  and  read.  All  the  top  rows  first,  and 
then  the  second,  and  so  on.  I  was  a  systematic  child, 
and  I  must  have  been  thoroughly  unimaginative."  She 
smiled  a  little.  "I  was  a  grown  woman  before  Europe 
was  anything  to  me  except  a  place  in  books;  I  had  some 
strange  ideas  of  the  European  world,  too." 

"Had  you  any  idea  of  America?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes !  There  was  a  Fenimore  Cooper  in  one  of  the 
boxes.  My  America  was  the  America  of  Fenimore 
Cooper." 

"Did  you  like  Fenimore  Cooper?"  asked  Jim  eagerly. 

"I  doted  upon  him.  Oh,  the  hours  I  have  spent  and 
the  tears  I  have  wept  over  his  noble  redskins !" 

"I  read  him  still;  and  I  laugh  at  him  only  as  one  may 
at  the  peculiarities  of  a  friend,"  said  Whittaker. 

"Of  a  friend,  to  be  sure,"  she  echoed  quickly. 

It  was  almost  as  if  she  were  accepting  a  correction  at 
his  hands.  She  halted  in  her  walk,  and  stood  at  the 
rail,  watching  the  sunset.  The  warm  light  tinted  her  face 
like  Ivory.  Jim  looked  at  her  instead  of  at  the  sunset. 
"What  were  you — reading  to-day?"  he  brought  out. 


88 

She  had  been  reading  French  memoirs,  very  enter- 
taining memoirs;  she  proceeded  to  illustrate,  turning  to 
look  at  him  as  she  did  so.  "I  finished  it,"  she  wound  up. 
"To-morrow  I  shall  begin  something  a  little  more  solid." 

"Solid?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  like  to  read  a  hard  book  once  in 
awhile?  A  dry  heavy  book,"  she  explained,  "or  perhaps 
a  book  with  much  in  it,  but  badly  written.  Don't  you  like 
to  throw  yourself  against  the  obstacles,  and  overcome 
them,  and  triumphantly  get  what's  there  in  spite  of  the 
author's  spirited  attempt  to  keep  you  from  getting  it  ?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  and  she  divined  his  idea. 
"You  didn't  expect  to  hear  that  from  me?"  she  asked. 
"You  think  me  a  lazy  creature.  So  I  am.  But  I  have  a 
brain,  and  it  has  never  found  any  activity  but  ceaseless 
reading,  which  is  on  the  whole  a  poor  business  in  life  for 
a  grown  woman.  People,  society?"  With  a  quick  ges- 
ture of  her  arm  she  seemed  to  sweep  them  all  into  the 
sea.  "Charity?  I  give  away  money,  of  course;  but 
I'm  not  charitable.  I'm  willing  to  let  the  unfortunate 
keep  their  distance.  A  book  and  a  boat  are  better,  by 
your  leave.  The  Helga  is  almost  an  end  in  life,  isn't 
she?" 

"The  Helga  is  wonderful,"  he  assured  her.  "Are  you 
liking  her  better  than  you  had  feared  ?" 

"I  am  liking  her  pretty  well,"  she  said. 

She  turned  her  head  away  from  him  again ;  she  stared 
unwinking  at  the  sun,  now  half  below  the  horizon.  So 
might  Leif  Ericsson  have  looked  toward  the  west,  his 
eyes  dreamy  under  a  brazen  helmet. 

At  dinner  that  night  she  left  most  of  the  talking  to 
him;  and  Jim,  to  show  that  he  appreciated  the  after- 
noon's burst  of  confidence — for  her,  it  surely  was  a  burst 
of  confidence — exerted  himself  to  be  entertaining.  He' 


THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD   89 

assumed  that  she  had  brought  him  along  as  a  sort  of 
court  fool,  to  make  merry  for  her  while  she  dined;  and 
she  laughed  and  accepted  the  assumption.  It  didn't  make 
much  difference  to  her  why  he  was  there,  or  why  he 
thought  he  was;  but  if  he  chose  to  exert  himself  for  her 
entertainment,  so  much  the  better.  In  return  she  played 
for  him  after  dinner. 

The  days  that  followed  were  much  like  this  one.  Zoe's 
burst  of  confidence  was  not  repeated,  but  everything  else 
was :  the  delicious  dinners,  the  musical  evenings,  Jim's 
rambles  over  the  ship,  the  captain's  stories.  The  weather 
was  perfect;  the  Helga  sped  on  through  the  sunshine. 
When  he  was  not  more  actively  occupied,  Jim  read  a 
little;  but  usually  he  dreamed  vaguely  instead  of  read- 
ing. Most  of  the  time  he  couldn't  have  told  what  he 
was  dreaming  about;  walking  or  sitting,  he  was  simply 
in  a  happy  daze.  For  hours  at  a  time  he  would  watch 
the  clouds  and  the  water,  his  mind  a  delightful  blank. 

At  first  he  struggled  against  this  state,  and  strove  to 
maintain  something  of  his  on-shore  alertness.  Then  he 
succumbed;  after  all,  he  hadn't  come  on  this  voyage  to 
preserve  his  town  attitude.  So  he  came  to  love  his  men- 
tal vagueness,  his  idle  routine,  to  dread  anything  that 
would  make  a  break  in  either. 

It  was  eloquent  testimony  to  that  negativeness  with 
which  Stuart  Evington  charged  Zoe,  that  thrown  in  her 
society  as  he  constantly  was,  and  interested  as  he  had 
been  in  her  from  the  moment  he  first  laid  eyes  on  her, 
Jim  didn't  at  once  fall  in  love  with  her.  But  their  rela- 
tions actually  seemed  not  to  advance  as  day  followed 
day;  and  Jim's  happy  endless  meditations  were  by  no 
means  always  concerned  with  her,  though  perhaps  she 
was  always  in  the  penumbra  of  his  consciousness.  It  is 


90  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

not  every  beautiful  woman,  seen  every  day,  who  will 
still  restrict  herself  to  the  penumbra. 

The  Helga  stopped  for  a  day  at  Havana;  the  stupid 
immaculate  steward  went  ashore  to  buy  provisions,  and 
Jim  to  see  the  town,  under  conduct  of  Mr.  Masterson. 
Miss  Lenox  did  not  leave  the  ship.  In  the  evening  Jim 
returned,  extraordinarily  eager  for  his  dinner  and  music ; 
and  as  he  and  Zoe  ate  together  at  their  little  table,  the 
Helga  steamed  out  of  the  harbor. 

The  Helga  resumed  her  southward  course;  and  the 
dream-like  calm  of  Jim's  life  aboard  deepened.  As  they 
approached  the  Equator,  the  heat  deprived  him  of  his 
last  spark  of  energy.  He  sat  in  the  shade,  and  at  inter- 
vals absorbed  iced  drinks  brought  him  by  the  steward, 
who  atoned  by  his  cleverness  with  a  lemon  squeezer  for 
his  stupidity  as  a  herald  of  guests.  Jim  did  not  even  read ; 
indeed  at  no  time  during  the  voyage  did  he  ever  succeed  in 
giving  much  attention  to  a  book.  And  when  in  those  daz- 
zling tropical  days  he  saw  Zoe  hard  at  her  book,  when 
in  the  glorious  tropical  evenings  she  talked  of  what  she 
had  read,  he  felt  mingled  wonder  and  impatience.  Her 
industry  was  praiseworthy,  and  no  doubt  voyaging  in 
the  tropics  was  an  old  story  to  her ;  but  he  sometimes  al- 
most hated  her  for  the  obvious  normality  in  which  her 
days  were  passing. 

He  was  driven  to  wonder  whimsically  if  he  were  in- 
deed Jim  Whittaker:  perhaps  some  other  soul  had 
strayed  into  his  body,  say  that  first  afternoon  as  he  lay 
asleep.  For  he  didn't  act  like  Jim  Whittaker — or  rather 
refrain  from  acting;  he  was  loafing  as  he  had  never  in 
his  life  loafed  before.  And  he  no  longer  saw  things 
as  Jim  Whittaker  would  surely  have  seen  them.  He 
didn't  know  exactly  what  his  position  on  the  Helga  was, 
and  he  didn't  care.  Around  him  were  people  who  might 


THE  HELGA  VOYAGES  SOUTHWARD        91 

be  wondering  about  that  very  thing :  the  old  captain,  and 
the  steward,  and  the  silent  mate.  But  Jim  didn't  care 
about  that  either.  His  sense  of  social  values,  and  his 
civilized  man's  feeling  of  moving  constantly  in  the  midst 
of  an  arena  of  observing  eyes,  had  not  accompanied  him 
on  shipboard.  He  was  a  man  without  history  or  back- 
ground, borne  along  without  his  volition  between  the 
strange  southern  stars  and  the  magic  unresting  sea. 

Their  approach  to  South  America  threatened  a  break 
in  Jim's  entrancing  routine.  The  Helga  put  into  port, 
and  Jim  waited  for  Miss  Lenox  to  hint  his  dismissal.  The 
Helga  came  to  rest,  and  still  he  waited.  Miss  Lenox 
failed  to  hint. 

"Shall  I  take  myself  on  shore  in  the  morning?"  asked 
Jim  when  she  rose  from  the  piano  that  evening. 

"Won't  you  take  me  too?"  she  asked.  "I  should  like 
to  spend  a  day  seeing  this  town." 

In  the  morning  they  went  on  shore  together ;  they  mo- 
tored about  the  port,  lunched,  went  into  a  few  shops; 
then  they  returned  to  the  Helga. 

"I  like  that  sort  of  glimpse  at  a  town,"  said  Zoe  at 
dinner.  "I  don't  care  for  more  just  now,  because  South 
America  is  an  old  story  to  me." 

"You  have  been  here  often?"  asked  Jim  politely. 

"Not  often;  only  once.  But  I  was  here  for  quite  a 
time.  I  came  here  with  Dad,  after  we  had  settled  in 
Europe.  We  were  in  this  country  a  year,  I  think;  he 
was  almost  tempted  to  stay.  It  offered  a  field  for  his 
talents  and  capital,  just  the  sort  of  field  he  liked.  But 
perhaps  he  felt  that  he  was  getting  a  little  old  for  such 
a  huge  undertaking.  Then,  too,  this  was  all  after  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  art.  A  most  romantic  attach- 
ment for  one's  old  age,  don't  you  think?" 

She  lifted  her  hand,  adjusted  a  candle  shade,  and 


92  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

looked  up  at  her  caged  birds — they  were  dining  in  the 
cabin.  "So,  you  see,"  she  concluded  musingly,  "South 
America  is  as  great  a  bore  as  Europe  in  one  way.  It  is 
swarming  with  people  I  know." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  that.  Jim  smoked  a 
cigarette,  and  then  another.  Zoe  didn't  smoke — that  was 
another  of  the  things  she  was  remarkable  for  not  doing. 
She  wasn't  worried,  Jim  thought,  at  the  possibility  that 
some  of  her  South  American  acquaintances  might  see 
her  with  him.  It  would  be  beneath  her,  and  outside  her 
as  well,  to  worry  about  anything  like  that.  If  worry  ever 
did  wrinkle  the  white  forehead  under  that  magnificent 
hair,  it  was  over  the  hideous  possibility  of  being  bored. 

"Yet  you  thought  South  America  might  interest  me," 
said  Jim  finally. 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  stay  in  this  town  indefinitely, 
.would  you?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  answered  Jim. 

"When  you  see  a  place  where  you  would  like  to  dis- 
embark, say  the  word.  Until  you  do,  stay  on  the  Helga, 
if  you  like." 

"I  like  it  on  board  the  Helga,"  said  Jim,  puffing  smoke 
lazily. 

Zoe  yawned,  rose  slowly,  trailed  the  magnificence  in 
which  she  had  dined  that  evening  into  the  other  saloon. 
Jim  followed.  She  sat  down  at  her  piano,  made  some 
remark  about  its  keeping  in  tune.  She  began  to  play. 

Thus  casually  are  decided  matters  big  with  fate. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AND   JIM    WHITTAKER   BEYOND    HIS   DEPTH 

A  SITUATION  so  anomalous,  Jim  supposed,  could 
scarcely  prolong  itself  indefinitely;  but  that  was 
exactly  what  his  passage  on  the  Helga  gave  signs  of  do- 
ing. The  yacht  held  her  course  down  the  coast  of  South 
America,  putting  in  at  each  of  the  principal  ports  for  a 
day.  In  each  Jim  watched  Miss  Lenox  for  a  sign  that 
she  had  had  enough  of  his  company,  waited  for  a  hint 
to  take  his  trunk  and  go.  He  must  go  one  of  these  days ; 
but  he  was  living  just  now  in  a  beautiful  mental  secur- 
ity ;  and  for  all  its  beauty  he  knew  that  any  move  might 
overthrow  his  security  completely. 

Zoe's  security  wasn't  at  all  that  kind;  she  trusted  it 
absolutely.  But  she  was  living  just  now  a  life  which 
suited  her,  and  in  which  Jim  Whittaker  had  proved  to  be 
an  unexpectedly  pleasant  accessory ;  she  saw  no  reason  to 
disturb  herself. 

In  each  port  at  which  they  touched  she  and  Jim  re- 
peated their  excursion.  They  would  go  ashore  after 
breakfast,  and  get  a  conveyance,  and  ride  slowly  about 
the  city  and  its  environs.  They  would  lunch  at  their 
leisure,  and  afterward  would  either  go  back  to  the  Helga 
or  resume  their  deliberate  tour  about  the  town.  Zoe, 
indeed,  made  her  land  excursions  shorter  and  shorter. 
She  was  growing,  she  told  Jim,  more  instead  of  less 
bored  with  land.  She  desired  the  sea,  perpetually,  day 

93 


94  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

after  day  without  a  break.  When  they  reached  the  south- 
ern extremity  of  the  continent  she  would,  she  believed, 
go  on  south.  And  Jim  imagined  himself  going  with  her. 
His  days  on  the  Helga  seemed  to  stretch  out  before  him 
as  they  already  stretched  behind.  He  had  forgotten 
that  he  ever  lived  any  other  life;  he  could  not  imagine 
that  he  ever  would  live  any  other. 

He  did,  indeed,  compromise  with  reality  to  the  ex- 
tent of  at  length  dispatching  two  letters  home.  One  was 
written  to  his  eldest  brother,  the  other  to  his  partner; 
and  in  both  Jim  stated  that  he  found  cruising  enjoy- 
able and  healthful,  and  would  keep  on,  he  thought,  a 
few  weeks  longer.  So  little  did  these  two  know  of  his 
intimate  concerns  that  he  could  tell  them  half  the  truth 
without  risk  of  their  guessing  the  other  half.  They 
might  guess  it,  of  course,  if  either  of  them  happened  to 
meet  and  compare  notes  with  Stuart  Evington;  but  their 
conjectures  and  judgments  belonged  to  the  far-away 
life  of  that  other  Jim  Whittaker,  with  whom  the  placid 
sailor  in  summer  seas  had  no  longer  any  connection. 

The  Helga,  to  be  sure,  had  drawn  by  this  time  into 
a  cooler  latitude.  In  the  cool  of  the  day  Zoe  now  wore 
a  splendid  white  fur  coat,  of  a  high  immaculateness  and 
a  rich  luxury;  she  did  more  of  her  reading  indoors,  and 
walked  the  deck  a  bit  more  briskly.  Yet  Jim  failed  to 
perceive  any  change  in  her  until  the  memorable  after- 
noon when  she  changed  to  him  definitely  and  for  all  time. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sunny  afternoon.  In  the  shade  of 
the  cabin,  and  sheltered  by  it  from  the  wind,  Jim  lay 
stretched  in  a  long  chair,  and  watched  the  sky.  He  had 
just  eaten  his  lunch,  which  was  preceded  by  a  shower; 
his  body  was  agreeably  idle,  his  mind  agreeably  and  to 
all  appearances  permanently  empty.  He  had  reached 
the  climax  of  his  lotus-eating  interval;  he  was  near  the 


JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  HIS  DEPTH       95 

end.  But  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  lotus-eating — marine 
lotus-eating — were  what  he  was  put  on  the  earth  for. 

He  hadn't  seen  Miss  Lenox  since  breakfast;  but  pres- 
ently as  he  lay  there  she  rounded  the  end  of  the  ship  and 
approached  him.  Jim  moved  his  head  just  sufficiently  to 
watch  her.  She  was  wearing  her  favourite  shipboard 
white,  with  a  bright  sash  knotted  on  one  hip;  she  was 
bare-headed,  and  her  hair  flamed  in  the  sun.  A  tall 
column  of  a  woman  she  was,  Jim  thought,  a  Caryatid; 
and  even  on  deck,  in  her  short  skirt  and  low  heels,  she 
walked  magnificently.  There  recurred  to  Jim  his  old 
childish  superstition  that  people  who  looked  out  of  the 
common  run  must  somehow  feel  different,  too.  Zoe 
Lenox,  if  that  were  true,  must  feel  an  unspeakable 
Olympian. 

Zoe  came  on;  and  Jim  saw  that  she  in  her  turn  was 
watching  him.  He  didn't  stir;  he  could  appreciate  an 
Olympian  spectacle  without  disturbing  himself.  She 
came  quite  up  to  him;  she  stood  beside  him,  and  her 
skirt  brushed  his  hand  as  it  lay  on  the  chair-arm.  She 
looked  down  at  him,  and  spoke;  Jim's  heart  began  to 
flutter  in  the  oddest  way.  He  was  quiet  now  to  keep 
from  trembling. 

"You're  not  asleep?"  she  said. 

"No." 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  were  asleep.  You  were  so  very 
quiet." 

"No.  I  haven't  been  asleep  at  all.  Did  you — want 
anything?"  To  his  own  ears  Jim's  voice  sounded  un- 
steady. 

"No,  nothing.  I  was  simply  wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  you."  Jim  made  a  movement  to  rise,  but  she 
smiled  and  shook  her  head.  "Don't  disturb  yourself, 
please.  You  inspire  me  with  a  wish  to  do  as  you  are 


96  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

doing.  You  look  so  comfortable — so  abysmally  com- 
fortable." 

She  went  on  her  way  again,  and  vanished.  Jim  sank 
obediently  back  in  his  chair;  and  with  the  wide-spread 
peace  and  solitude  of  the  sea  all  about  him,  he  suddenly 
threw  up  his  arms  and  covered  his  face.  He  felt  ac- 
tually and  physically  dazzled.  He  had  looked  at  Zoe 
often  enough,  in  all  conscience,  during  these  weeks ;  and 
he  had  never  looked  without  appreciation.  He  had  al- 
ways recognised  her  beauty,  her  strength  and  grace  and 
finish;  but  he  had  recognised  them  as  an  amused  specta- 
tor may  the  studied  perfections  of  an  actress  on  the  other 
side  of  the  footlights.  And  now  suddenly  the  footlights 
were  gone ;  gone  was  the  proscenium  arch,  gone  the  pro- 
tecting distance  that  had  separated  him  from  her.  Like 
a  man  passing  out  from  under  the  influence  of  a  drug, 
Jim  was  painfully  conscious  of  everything  that  impinged 
upon  his  senses;  and  the  little  sounds  that  came  to  his 
ears,  the  light  that  filtered  through  his  closed  eyelids, 
awakened  in  him  a  sort  of  dread.  His  magic  lotus-eating 
interval  was  over,  he  felt;  and  this  was  neither  the  time 
nor  the  place  that  he  would  have  chosen  to  come  to 
himself. 

He  dined  with  Zoe  quite  as  usual  that  evening;  and 
with  the  restraint  of  habit  managed  to  conduct  himself 
much  as  he  always  had.  Zoe  certainly  hadn't  changed  in 
any  way  that  a  third  person  would  recognise;  and  her 
view  of  Jim  was  evidently  quite  the  same  as  it  had 
been.  But  in  Jim's  view  of  her  the  veils  between  them 
had  been  rent ;  and  where  he  had  once  looked  steadily  and 
wide-eyed,  he  now  dared  only  to  steal  glimpses,  as  if 
the  light  were  too  bright  for  him. 

The  phenomenon  of  his  clear  and  unimpeded  vision 
persisted  during  the  days  which  followed.  Cooler  air 


JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  HIS  DEPTH       97 

and  the  rest  he  had  had  combined  to  wake  his  brain  from 
its  late  lethargy.  He  was  aware  of  everything — oh, 
yes,  everything! — but  he  was  disturbed  only  by  his  ter- 
rible consciousness  of  Zoe.  That  was  sometimes  like 
a  blinding  light,  sometimes  like  a  gnawing  pain;  and  it 
was  always  there,  brushing  him  lightly,  making  inroads 
upon  him,  invading  him  heavily,  until  he  could  have 
snouted  aloud  in  his  anguish.  This  was  a  fixed  idea, 
and  his  nerves  rebelled  against  it. 

Late  one  afternoon  he  and  Zoe  were  walking  together 
on  deck.  A  strong  wind  was  blowing,  and  the  sea  ran 
high;  the  tumult  in  Nature  appealed  to  his  strained 
nerves.  Two  or  three  times  they  made  the  turn  of  the 
ship  in  silence;  then  Zoe  halted  in  the  prow,  and  stood 
looking  out  ahead.  Jim  looked,  as  he  always  did  now 
when  he  was  not  consciously  on  his  guard,  not  at  the 
surroundings  but  at  her.  All  her  Viking  blood  seemed 
to  come  to  the  surface  at  such  a  moment ;  the  great  clean 
wind  blew  away  her  Olympian  sophistication,  her  more 
than  mortal  boredom.  She  had  fronted  the  mightiest  and 
most  implacable  of  the  elements,  in  her  own  person  and 
those  of  her  ancestors,  for  hundreds  of  years.  Sud- 
denly Jim  forgot  to  rage  because  he  saw  her  too  well; 
when  she  looked  as  she  did  now,  no  sight  of  her  could 
be  too  clear.  Her  wonderful  pale  profile  and  bright  hair, 
against  a  background  of  clouded  sky  and  stormy  sea 
— her  magnificent  body  erect  against  the  wind — and  the 
wind  drumming  in  his  ears  too — and  the  ship  bearing 
them  ever  onward!  This  hour  stood  forth  for  him  in 
majesty  and  might.  Jim  Whittaker,  there  with  Zoe 
Lenox  in  the  Helga's  prow,  lifted  out  of  himself  by  the 
magnificent  rush  of  his  sensations,  saw  before  him  all 
the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  and  took  them  to  be  his.  He 
had  only  to  ask,  and  Life  would  offer;  he  would  ask,  and 


98  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Fate  would  superbly  grant.  This  hour  alone  was  worth 
the  placid  life-time  that  lay  behind  him. 

In  his  berth  that  night  he  woke  suddenly,  shivering. 
It  was  pitch-dark  in  his  stateroom,  and  a  well-regulated 
person  like  Jim  should  have  slept  for  hours  longer.  In- 
stead he  sat  up  in  a  cold  sweat,  with  the  unpleasant  con- 
sciousness of  a  spectre  on  his  pillow.  He  who  had  lately 
been  so  magnificent  now  saw  himself  simply  as  a  fool. 
An  unmitigated  fool,  but  by  no  means  a  plain  fool:  a 
fool,  indeed,  who  went  very  far  out  of  his  way  to  be 
foolish.  Putting  himself  in  a  position  where  he  saw  very 
much  of  such  a  woman  was  bad  enough;  but  that  might 
have  passed.  What  could  not  pass,  what  might  have  con- 
sequences that  would  sit  spectre-like  on  his  pillow  all  the 
rest  of  his  natural  life,  was  his  mad  continuation  of  a 
course  that  to  the  intellect  of  the  veriest  idiot  he  had 
ever  known,  apart  from  himself,  would  have  spelled  dan- 
ger. To  sit  at  the  feet  of  Galatsea  was,  of  course,  in 
itself  to  take  a  risk,  but  it  was  such  a  risk  as  men  do 
take.  But  to  embark  with  Galatsea  on  a  voyage  a  deux 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  South  Pole  was  to  be, 
finally  and  ignominiously,  a  fool. 

The  panic  of  the  night  watches  seldom  endures  into 
the  day;  unfortunately,  their  wisdom  is  only  slightly 
more  enduring.  At  four  in  the  morning  Jim  Whittaker 
registered  a  solemn  vow  that  he  would  that  very  day 
have  himself  immediately  and  incontinently  set  upon  the 
nearest  land,  no  matter  what  it  was.  He  saw  no  safety 
except  in  flight,  and  he  determined  to  flee  at  once.  But 
Jim  Whittaker,  emerging  into  the  sunlight  at  nine  after 
an  excellent  breakfast,  could  not  see  that  his  position  was 
particularly  different  from  what  it  had  been  the  day 
before.  He  was  in  the  position,  even  if  he  had  some- 
what unguardedly  placed  himself  there.  Being  where 


JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  HIS  DEPTH       99 

he  was,  he  decided  that  the  better  course  was  for  him  to 
get  all  possible  enjoyment  out  of  it. 

He  did,  however,  so  far  regard  the  writing  on  the  wall 
as  to  seek  some  information  presently  from  the  mate. 
Jim  had  never  managed  to  get  acquainted  with  Mr.  Mas- 
terson;  and  of  late  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  man's 
presence :  so  far  as  Jim's  perceptions  had  recently  been 
concerned,  he  and  Zoe  might  have  been  together  in  an 
otherwise  empty  ship. 

But  as  the  opportunity  chanced  that  day  to  present  it- 
self, Jim  asked  casually,  "When  shall  we  touch  land 
again,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Masterson?" 

The  mate  favoured  him  with  a  curious  sidewise  glance, 
and  answered  curtly,  "When  we  cross  the  South  Pole, 
perhaps." 

"Eh?"  asked  Jim,  startled. 

"Our  last  stop  was  to  be  the  last  for  some  time,"  as- 
serted Mr.  Masterson. 

"Of  course,"  said  Jim,  his  throat  feeling  a  little  dry. 
"Could  you  show  me  on  a  chart  where  we  are?" 

"Of  course.    Right  here,  Mr.  Whittaker." 

Jim  followed  the  mate's  brown  forefinger  across  the 
chart.  "You  see  we  have  swung  altogether  away  from 
South  America,  and  are  heading  west  of  Graham's 
Land." 

"Aren't  there  any  islands,  even?"  asked  Jim,  trying 
to  seem  only  curious. 

"No.  If  we  keep  on  we  shall  come  to  a  very  desolate 
part  of  the  ocean.  I  don't  know  what  Miss  Lenox's  idea 
is;  but  she  probably  will  change  it,  anyhow." 

Jim  thought  that  he  would  demand  that  she  change 
it.  The  situation  was  more  serious  than  he  had  real- 
ised: the  unaccountable  woman  did  actually  seem  to  be 
heading  for  the  South  Pole.  The  mate  didn't  know 


100  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

where  she  was  going;  undoubtedly  the  captain  didn't 
know;  perhaps  Zoe  herself  didn't.  But  Jim  Whittaker 
intended  to  find  out.  Having  come  at  last  to  a  deter- 
mination, he  only  waited  for  a  chance  to  put  it  into 
action. 

Zoe  was  later  than  usual  in  appearing  that  morning. 
She  not  only  breakfasted  in  her  stateroom ;  she  stayed 
there,  and  still  she  stayed.  When  at  length  she  did 
emerge,  she  found  Jim  loitering  outside  her  door;  and 
Jim  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her  somewhat  tardily 
greet  the  day. 

Her  maid  was  behind  her,  bearing  her  fur  coat.  Zoe 
sniffed  the  morning  air,  and  looked  unsmilingly  at  Jim. 
Then  with  a  quick  swallow-like  motion  she  dipped  first 
one  shoulder  and  then  the  other,  and  stood  erect  again 
in  her  coat.  She  plunged  her  arms  to  the  elbows  in  its 
great  pockets;  once  more  she  inhaled  slowly.  Then  she 
came  over  to  Jim,  and  said,  "Good-morning." 

She  turned  to  walk  the  deck,  and  he  turned  with  her. 
Their  steps  fell  into  accord;  briskly  and  silently  they 
walked  the  turn  of  the  deck.  There  was  an  especial 
charm  for  Jim  in  walking  thus  with  her,  in  harmony  and 
in  silence;  and  for  some  moments  he  forbore  to  break 
the  charm. 

It  was  Zoe,  indeed,  who  spoke  first.  She  turned  her 
head  slightly  toward  him,  and  asked,  "Do  you  read 
Greek?" 

Jim  couldn't  believe  his  ears;  and  Zoe  obligingly  re- 
peated  her  question.  "I  studied  Greek,  long  enough 
ago,"  he  said.  "I  shouldn't  exactly  say  that  I  read  it." 

"I  have  studied  it  a  little  myself,"  she  said.  "A  mis- 
sionary taught  me.  I  have  a  Greek  name;  perhaps  that 
was  what  first  put  him  upon  the  idea." 

"Did  you  like  it?"  asked  Jim. 


JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  HIS  DEPTH    101 

"Very  much.  I  should  like  to  go  on  with  it.  I  was 
hoping  that  you  would  know  more  about  it  than  I  do." 

"It  is  as  a  tutor,  then,  that  I  am  here!"  thought  Jim. 
Considering  what  was  in  his  mind,  that  hypothesis  ought 
perhaps  to  have  relieved  him;  but  instead  it  made  him 
angry.  He  was  silent,  and  glared  ahead  of  him. 

Zoe  felt  him  stiffen.  "I'm  sure  that  you  know  more 
about  it  than  I  do,"  she  said  sweetly. 

Jim  knew  that  she  spoke  only  to  mollify  him ;  he  felt 
that  if  he  had  had  an  ounce  of  proper  self-assertion  he 
would  have  turned  upon  her  then  and  there,  and  rowed 
her.  But  when  she  spoke  to  him  that  way  he  didn't  want 
to  row  her;  he  was  actually  absurdly  mollified.  "I  shall 
be  glad  to  try  to  read  with  you,  if  you  have  the  books," 
he  said. 

"Now?"  she  asked,  with  childish  eagerness. 

"Now,  at  once,  this  moment,"  Jim  answered,  smiling. 

She  drew  him  at  once  to  the  main  cabin,  and  sought 
out  the  books.  A  neat  fire  was  burning  in  the  grate ;  and 
they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  settle,  with  texts  and  trans- 
lations heaped  before  them.  "You  take  the  text,"  she 
said,  "and  I'll  hold  the  pony  and  the  lexicon.  With  what 
shall  we  begin  ?" 

Jim  inspected  the  texts  before  him.  In  succession  he 
picked  up  and  put  down  Plato's  Apology,  the  Philippics, 
and  the  Iliad.  His  fingers  crept  toward  another  book, 
which  he  had  seen  at  once  and  had  tried  to  disregard ;  he 
found  himself  opening  it,  paging  it  over,  seemingly  un- 
able to  reject  it.  Zoe  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "Anti- 
gone," she  read.  "Oh,  yes !  The  Antigone !" 

It  was  the  last  touch  of  the  idyllic  in  the  situation,  Jim 
felt :  a  touch  that  he  clearly  didn't  need.  But  it  seemed 
to  interest  Zoe.  She  drew  him  back  to  the  Greek  read- 
ing in  the  afternoon,  and  substituted  it  for  music  in  the 


102  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

evening.  They  came  back  to  it  next  day  without  a  word 
on  either  side;  when  they  had  finished  "Antigone"  they 
began  "Medaea."  And  Jim  said  not  a  word  of  what  he 
had  meant  to  say  to  Zoe ;  and  the  writing  on  the  wall  be- 
came ever  dimmer  and  dimmer  in  his  mind.  Borne  thus 
aloft  on  the  wings  of  a  great  art,  and  of  Zoe's  magic  and 
unexpected  enthusiasm,  Jim  hadn't  an  ear  or  a  corner 
of  his  mind  for  common  prudence. 

It  was  like  some  dream  of  his  youth,  to  read  Greek 
drama  thus  before  an  open  fire  in  a  sort  of  enchanted 
solitude,  with  one  sympathetic  soul  who  could,  and  did, 
appreciate  and  thrill  as  Jim  himself  appreciated  and 
thrilled.  And  Zoe  was  more  than  a  companion  in  his 
reading:  she  wove  herself  in  with  it,  she  became  iden- 
tified with  the  very  source  of  the  inspiration.  Anti- 
gone? She  was  Antigone,  in  all  her  native  nobility; 
and  when  they  read  "Medaea,"  she  was  Medaea  in  her 
terror.  The  free-striding,  fair-haired,  deep-bosomed 
heroines  of  antiquity — she  was  all  of  them;  and  she 
sailed  ever  in  a  silver  ship  on  a  wine-dark  sea,  and  she 
and  Jim  Whittaker  were  sailing  straight  for  Heaven. 

He  might  have  gone  on  forever  thus,  in  spite  of  the 
deep  forebodings  that  had  so  lately  chilled  him,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  Helga,  silver  ship  with  her  golden 
freight,  had  gone  on  for  days  now,  south  and  ever  south, 
without  sight  of  an  island.  Jim  had  lost  count  of  how 
long  they  had  sailed  so ;  his  days  passed  one  like  another, 
but  each  more  wonderful  than  the  last.  Reading  and 
walking  and  dreaming — it  was  so  that  he  spent  his  days, 
his  head  miles  above  those  of  mortals;  and  he  was  pre- 
vented from  sordid  stumblings  by  the  fact  that  the  meals 
he  only  half  ate  were  still  dimly  perceived  to  be  as  won- 
derful as  ever.  That  was,  although  it  didn't  occur  to  Jim 


at  the  time,  due  to  the  amazing  cleverness  of  Americans 
with  sheet  tin.  x 

He  was  smoking  under  the  bridge  one  morning,  be- 
fore it  was  time  for  the  reading  to  begin,  when  he  be- 
came conscious  of  voices  overhead.  One  was  the  voice 
of  Zoe;  he  noted  that  gladly,  for  he  had  not  supposed 
she  was  up  as  yet.  They  could  begin  very  soon  now, 
doubtless;  perhaps  before  they  began  Zoe  would  like  to 
walk  for  a  few  minutes.  Jim  smoked  faster,  to  be 
through  when  she  descended. 

Then  all  at  once  their  raised  voices  penetrated  to  his 
consciousness,  Zoe's  first.  "But  we  have  coal  and  water 
and  provisions  enough,"  she  was  saying.  "When  we  are 
half  through  all  of  them,  or  any  of  them,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  turn  back." 

"That  would  be  all  right,  perhaps,  barring  accidents," 
said  the  captain;  his  voice  sounded  angry.  "But  at  sea 
you  never  can  bar  accidents.  And  we  must  be  very  close 
now  to  the  region  of  floating  ice." 

"All  the  better  if  we  are,"  answered  Zoe.  She  was  not 
angry;  she  was  simply  determined  not  to  have  her  will 
crossed.  "I  shall  like  that  above  all  things.  I  wish  to 
float  among  ice-bergs,  and  see  penguins." 

"It  isn't  safe,"  insisted  the  captain  in  exasperation. 
"It's  all  right  for  a  whaler  to  take  such  chances,  Miss 
Lenox;  but  for  a  pleasure  cruise " 

"Ideas  of  pleasure  differ,"  Zoe  reminded  him.  The 
captain's  snort  was  audible  where  Jim  stood.  "So  long 
as  you  are  captain  of  my  yacht,  you  will  consider  my 
idea  of  pleasure,"  she  went  smoothly  on.  "If  you  dis- 
approve too  heartily,  you  can  resign  your  commission, 
and  Mr.  Masterson  will  take  your  place.  We  can  carry 
you  as  a  passenger,  if  you  don't  want  the  responsibility 
of  being  captain  any  longer.  Or  if  you  are  afraid,"  she 


104  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

added  rather  nastily,  "we  can  turn  back  to  the  nearest 
port  to  drop  you." 

"I  shall  continue  as  the  Helga's  captain,"  he  rejoined 
stoutly,  "until  I  see  her  safe  in  port.  I'm  responsible 
for  the  crew ;  and  I  should  like  to  remind  you,  Miss 
Lenox,  that  the  Helga  is  a  very  beautiful  yacht,  and  I'd 
hate  to  see  anything  happen  to  her." 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  that  way  about  her,"  said  Zoe,  and 
added  after  a  moment,  "and  I  am  sure  you  could  take 
her  right  up  to  the  Pole  itself  without  damaging  her." 

At  this  compliment  to  his  seamanship  the  captain  again 
snorted ;  and  a  moment  later  Zoe  left  him,  and  descended 
to  the  deck.  After  her  easy  victory  Jim  expected  to  see 
her  quite  her  usual  self ;  but  she  passed  him  without  see- 
ing him,  and  with  an  expression  such  as  he  had  never 
before  seen  her  wear :  pale  cheeks  flushed,  brows  drawn, 
eyes  glittering.  Something  had  affected  her  strongly; 
and  the  captain's  abortive  attempt  at  rebellion  was  hardly 
enough  to  account  for  her  strange  perturbation. 

She  did  not  reappear  that  day  until  after  lunch;  and 
Jim  had  plenty  of  time  to  think.  He  thought  about  the 
strange  direction  of  their  voyage.  It  was  odd  that  he 
hadn't  thought  more  about  it  before;  but  Zoe  wasn't 
the  kind  of  woman  whose  dictates  may  be  effectively 
questioned.  If  she  wished  to  voyage  among  ice- 
bergs and  see  penguins,  that  must  suffice.  But  was  she 
really  so  keen  about  ice-bergs  and  penguins?  Jim  could 
hardly  suppose  that  she  was  so  directing  the  Helga's 
course  merely  to  give  herself  a  long  tete-a-tete  with  Jim 
Whittaker.  But  mightn't  she — it  struck  him  suddenly 
— be  acting  from  sheer  bravado?  Perhaps  she  wished 
to  show — to  show  him  and  herself — that  she  wasn't 
afraid  of  a  very  long  tete-a-tete  with  Jim  Whittaker. 

Jim's  heart  leaped  up,  and  a  dizzying  glory  seemed 


to  swim  before  his  eyes.  No  woman  that  is  born  of 
woman  is  absolutely  invulnerable;  and  in  the  world  of 
man  and  woman  things  go  not  by  fear  or  favour,  and 
least  of  all  by  desert.  They  go  by  blind,  stumbling 
chance.  And  if  chance  had  stumbled  thus  unthinkably 
against  Jim  Whittaker,  Jim  was  dazzled,  but  undaunted. 

Zoe  walked  with  him  that  afternoon;  and  in  the 
evening  they  sat  down  together  to  read.  Their  read- 
ing was  a  refuge;  they  stuck  at  it  doggedly,  and  until 
after  their  usual  hour.  Finally  it  grew  more  embarrass- 
ing to  read  on  than  to  stop.  They  stopped,  and  rose 
from  their  settle. 

At  the  table,  as  they  laid  down  their  books,  his  hand 
happened  to  touch  hers.  He  covered  it  for  a  moment, 
and  pressed  it;  his  doing  so  was  half  involuntary,  and 
half  experimental.  The  effect  on  Zoe  was  startling.  A 
wave  of  colour  went  over  her  face ;  her  eyelids  drooped 
and  she  swayed  as  she  stood.  Jim's  arm  went  around 
her;  he  started  to  draw  her  toward  him.  Then  he  be- 
thought himself,  and  put  her  gently  into  a  chair.  "You've 
been — overdoing  yourself,"  he  stammered.  "Sit  quiet 
until  I  call  your  maid." 

She  sat  quiet,  very  quiet;  he  left  her  so. 

Half  that  night  Jim  Whittaker  walked  the  deck,  the 
ecstasy  in  his  blood  defying  chill.  His  star-crowned 
Antigone,  daughter  of  the  dead  Helga,  wooed  of  Grand 
Dukes,  and  wooed  in  vain,  had  swayed  toward  Jim 
Whittaker,  and  crimsoned  when  his  hand  clasped  hers. 
It  might  be  only  a  passing  impulse  on  her  side;  but  it 
was  his  part  to  make  permanent  that  impulse.  And 
with  the  fire  that  was  in  him  he  could  do  it,  even  to  Zoe 
Lenox.  To  hold  her  and  kiss  her,  kiss  her  into  warm 
sweet  life,  kiss  her  into  loving  him — Jim  flung  his  arms 
out  to  the  empty  night. 


106  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

If  only  things  weren't  as  they  were,  so  that  he  might 
begin  at  once!  Practically  alone  with  her  hundreds  of 
miles  away  from  society  as  he  knew  it,  her  guest  on 
her  own  ship,  he  had  to  behave.  There  was  for  the  pres- 
ent no  course  open  to  him  except  an  iron  rigidity,  even 
if  she  hated  him  for  it.  But  she  wouldn't  hate  him 
for  it;  she  would  see  what  restrained  him.  And  once 
they  were  back  on  land,  she  would  love  him.  If  only 
for  a  month  or  a  fortnight  or  a  day,  the  star-crowned 
one  would  love  him,  and  he  would  be  blessed  above  all 
other  men, 

Tired  at  length,  although  sleep  was  very  far  from  his 
eyelids,  Jim  turned  to  go  back  to  his  state-room.  There 
was  a  light  in  the  main  saloon;  a  few  minutes  before, 
when  he  passed  that  way,  it  hadn't  been  there.  The 
door  was  a  little  ajar,  letting  escape  a  narrow  band  of 
light;  Jim  approached  in  some  curiosity. 

As  he  put  out  his  hand  to  the  door  it  opened  wide: 
Zoe's  maid,  the  Malay  woman  she  called  Anna,  appeared 
on  the  threshold.  For  a  long  minute  they  stood  so,  and 
scrutinised  each  other  in  the  light  that  came  from  the 
cabin. 

He  had  seen  very  little  of  Anna  on  the  voyage:  she 
clung  to  her  little  state-room,  and  almost  never  ap- 
peared on  deck  except  when  she  waited  actively  on  Zoe; 
and  when  she  waited  it  was  swiftly  and  silently,  with 
lowered  eyelids.  Jim  had  never  seen  enough  of  her  to 
feel  at  ease  in  her  presence :  to  him  there  was  something 
sinister  about  her.  If  she  crossed  his  path,  it  seemed  al- 
ways to  be  for  the  purpose  of  scrutinising  him  before 
she  vanished  into  her  mysterious  limbo. 

"Is  Miss  Lenox  resting  well?"  Jim  heard  himself 
ask  presently;  to  his  own  ears  his  voice  sounded  a  lit- 
tle strange. 


JIM  WHITTAKER  BEYOND  HIS  DEPTH     107 

"Yes,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  said  the  maid.  Her  sparse 
English  was  as  good  as  Zoe's  own,  her  manner  that  of 
the  respectful  servant.  But  Jim  couldn't  forget  his 
impression  of  her.  The  light  in  the  cabin  went  out ;  she 
glided  past  him  in  the  shadow.  Jim  shuddered,  just  as  he 
had  seen  some  people  do  when  a  cat  went  too  near  them. 

He  went  to  his  stateroom  and  undressed;  his 
thoughts  still  ran  on  the  Malay  maid.  How  Zoe  could 
bear  to  have  such  a  creature  always  about  her,  handling 
her  every 'garment,  brushing  her  hair — !  Well,  it  was 
a  part  of  her  strangeness;  and  to  be  sure  he  loved  Zoe 
for  her  strangeness,  and  regretted  it  when  she  didn't 
show  enough  to  please  him. 

No,  he  wouldn't  have  her  altered,  wouldn't  wish  her 
to  incline  more  to  the  conventional  mould.  All  he  wished 
was  to  have  her  warm  to  him,  as  she  must  warm,  would 
warm,  now.  He  had  got  so  far  that  he  no  longer  dis- 
trusted even  what  he  had  once  bewailed  as  her  lack  of 
humanness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FAR   OUT   AT   SEA 

HE  would  carry  his  love,  he  thought,  carefully  be- 
fore him;  in  secret  he  could  enjoy  its  aroma,  but 
except  when  he  was  alone  he  would  bear  it  like  a  goblet 
of  precious  waters.  He  would  bear  it  so,  but  not,  he 
hoped,  for  long.  Of  course,  if  Zoe  never  stopped  to 
sip  it  with  him,  he  might  have  to  carry  it  carefully  all 
his  life,  watching  it  ebb  only  as  life  itself  ebbed;  and 
when  he  came  to  be  a  very  old  gentleman,  he  would  know 
himself  from  other  old  gentlemen  chiefly  by  its  fainter 
but  never-dying  fragrance  in  his  soul. 

But  Jim  didn't  actually  for  a  moment  believe  that  it 
would  ever  come  to  that.  What  concerned  him  was  tid- 
ing over  this  present  crisis.  And  he  could  tide  it  over; 
certainly  he  could.  Only  he  hoped  that  Zoe  would  not 
unnecessarily  prolong  the  situation. 

But  that  was  exactly  what  Zoe  se,emed  determined  to 
do.  Southward,  ever  south,  sailed  the  Helga.  Ice  was 
sighted,  and  the  captain  steered  away  from  it.  He  may 
have  grumbled  in  secret,  but  Jim  heard  him  offer  no 
farther  remonstrance  to  his  employer.  And  Jim  himself 
could  not  remonstrate  without  saying  too  much.  If  Zoe 
saw  anything  at  all,  she  ought  to  have  known  what  to 
do  without  his  telling  her.  If  she  saw  nothing,  so  much 
the  better,  perhaps;  Jim  could  hold  up  his  end  unas- 
sisted, provided  Zoe's  blindness  were  real. 

How  much  did  Zoe  see,  and  how  much,  if  anything, 

108 


FAR  OUT  AT  SEA  109 

did  she  herself  feel?  Jim  didn't  know.  To  be  sure,  in 
the  hours  that  he  and  Zoe  spent  together  he  hadn't  any 
great  opportunity  to  judge;  for  when  he  and  Zoe  were 
together  he  was  now  constantly  watching  himself.  Then 
too,  those  hours  had  been  of  late'considerably  abridged. 
The  Greek  readings  were  discontinued  without  a  word 
said  on  either  side.  The  promenades  on  deck,  with  their 
strides  matching  and  the  wind  in  their  hair,  seldom  re- 
curred now.  Was  she  forcing  herself  to  ignore  him, 
fighting  down  her  feelings,  purposely  making  her  eyes 
blank  when  they  met  his?  It  didn't  seem  possible;  she 
would  hardly  have  passed  unscathed  through  the  atten- 
tions of  Grand  Dukes  only  to  fall  in  love  with  Jim 
Whittaker.  If  his  imagination  showed  signs  of  running 
away  with  him,  Jim  had  only  to  recall  those  deterrent 
Grand  Dukes.  And  yet,  if  she  were  as  indifferent  to  him 
as  he  must  politely  assume  that  she  was,  why  was  she 
having  the  Helga  run  ever  steadily  to  the  south  ? 

The  ship's  course  was  to  Jim  the  strong  proof  of  Zoe's 
weakness.  She  had  seen  the  penguins  it  was  her  avowed 
object  to  see.  The  weather  was  disagreeable,  sailing  so 
was  in  itself  monotonous;  and  the  Helga  steamed  for- 
ward now,  even  Jim  was  aware,  in  danger  from  ice, 
both  apparent  and  hidden.  He  mustn't  think  much 
about  it;  but  if  he  could  have  allowed  himself  to  think 
about  it,  Jim's  conclusion  would  certainly  have  been  that 
Zoe  was  clinging  desperately  to  the  ideal  of  herself 
which  she  had  all  her  life  shaped  and  tended.  The  first 
thing  required  by  that  ideal  was  for  her  not  to  swerve  or 
admit  fear — fear  of  ice-bergs  or  Jim  Whittaker,  of 
things  or  men. 

They  had  gone  on  so,  it  seemed  to  Jim,  a  very  long 
time  after  his  fateful  admission  to  himself,  when  Zoe 
went  one  evening  to  the  piano.  She  had  not  played  for 


110  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

a  long  time;  and  Jim  was  glad  to  see  her  go,  believing 
that  music  might  relieve  the  tension  of  her  spirit.  But 
it  had  no  chance  to  do  so.  She  sat  there  for  a  long 
time  and  read  music ;  but  she  did  not  touch  the  keys.  Her 
dumb  distress  was  perceptible  even  to  a  man  who  was 
trying  to  look  away;  and  it  was  really  pitiful.  She  made 
too  much  of  the  matter,  poor  proud  girl.  Sooner  than 
see  her  go  on  like  this,  thought  Jim,  he  would  throw  his 
scruples  into  the  Antarctic  Ocean. 

As  they  parted  for  the  night  he  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  This  was  an  attention  she  must  have  received 
from  the  Grand  Dukes ;  but  it  melted  her  singularly  now. 
She  looked  at  Jim  with  quivering  lips,  and  her  hand 
trembled  in  his.  And  at  this  point  of  possible  fusion, 
at  this  moment  of  high  and  wonderful  strain  that  might 
have  done  for  them  what  they  could  not  soberly  and 
coolly  do  for  themselves,  Jim  was  fool  enough  to  mur- 
mur, "Zoe,  have  the  Helga  turned  back." 

She  snatched  away  her  hand  as  if  it  had  been  burnt, 
and  fled.  Jim  started  after  her,  calling  to  her  to  wait, 
attempting  stumbling  apologies,  incoherent  fragments  of 
explanation  and  excuse.  Her  stateroom  door  banged 
in  his  face.  Jim  went  to  his  own  room,  and  spent  a 
wakeful  night  in  a  state  of  humiliation  and  disgust  which 
he  expressed  privily  as  a  desire  to  kick  himself.  Zoe's 
proud  head  had  been  ready  to  stoop;  if  he  had  but  held 
his  peace,  she  might  have  come  to  him  in  a  yielding  that 
was  almost  beyond  his  dreams.  And  he  had  been  so 
stupid,  so  ridiculous,  so  utterly  fatuous  as  to  choose  that 
exact  moment  for  saying  what  he  ought  never  to  have 
said  to  her  at  all.  "Have  the  Helga  turned  back !  Have 
the  Helga  turned  back!"  And  save  Jim  Whittaker's 
skin,  or  his  precious  reputation,  or  his  doubly  precious 
idea  of  himself.  "Have  the  Helga  turned  back !"  Have 


FAR  OUT  AT  SEA  111 

Jim  Whittaker  walk  the  plank,  rather,  and  thus  assure 
yourself  that  there  will  be  one  less  fool  alive ! 

Jim  emerged  in  the  morning  into  greyness  both  ma- 
terial and  spiritual.  The  Helga  made  her  way  slowly 
through  fog.  The  captain  was  too  peevish  to  approach, 
and  Mr.  Masterson's  thin  lips  were  set  in  a  straight,  for- 
bidding line.  Zoe  did  not  appear  at  all;  and  Jim  failed 
even  to  catch  sight  of  her  maid. 

He  spent  a  wretched  day  kicking  his  heels  about  the 
ship.  He  tried  to  read,  and  failed;  he  tried  to  smoke, 
and  found  it  distasteful.  He  began  several  letters,  to 
be  posted  God  knew  when;  he  had  nothing  to  say  in 
them.  Even  his  sea  appetite  failed ;  and  the  meals  which 
the  steward  set  before  him  in  the  charming  blue  dining 
saloon  were  taken  away  almost  untasted. 

He  went  to  bed  early ;  he  was  wretchedly  tired,  but  he 
didn't  feel  like  sleeping.  He  did  succeed  in  dozing,  how- 
ever; for  he  had  left  a  light  in  the  room,  and  presently 
he  lost  it  for  moments  at  a  time,  and  was  conscious  of 
recovering  it  as  if  that  were  somehow  a  very  important 
thing  to  do. 

At  last  he  slept  soundly,  and  dreamed  most  horribly. 
Zoe  was  always  before  him ;  but  for  one  reason  and  an- 
other he  could  never  get  to  her.  She  was  imprisoned 
in  a  block  of  ice,  and  appealing  to  him  to  release  her, 
and  he  couldn't  get  to  her;  and  just  when  he  made  a 
mighty  effort,  and  burst  the  bonds  that  held  him,  she 
wasn't  appealing  to  him  at  all.  She  floated  in  the  air 
just  above  him  and  just  beyond  his  reach,  and  mocked 
with  shrill  derisive  laughter  his  efforts  to  catch  her. 

She  was  stretched  on  her  back,  chained  to  rocks  that 
pierced  her  flesh.  She  was  naked  and  bleeding;  she 
turned  toward  him  eyes  that  were  full  of  entreaty  and 
shame.  She  saw  that  he  was  separated  from  her  by  a 


112  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

horrible  chasm,  that  he  was  trying  to  get  to  her.  She 
didn't  see  that  his  one  thought  was  to  release  her,  to 
bind  up  her  wounds  and  kneel  at  her  feet.  She  was 
afraid  of  him ;  oh,  God,  she  was  afraid !  And  when  he 
tried  to  call  to  her  he  was  dumb,  and  the  chasm  yawned 
dizzyingly  between  them. 

And  then  he  was  back  in  his  berth  aboard  the  Helga; 
and  something  had  happened  to  the  ship.  He  seemed  to 
hear  sharp  tones  and  hurried  footsteps.  He  wanted  to 
get  up  and  find  out  what  the  trouble  was,  but  he  couldn't 
wake.  In  agony  like  that  of  a  drowned  man  returning 
to  life  he  fought  and  fought.  With  a  final  mighty  ef- 
fort, which  seemed  to  rend  his  beii\g,  he  came  to  him- 
self. The  light  was  burning  just  as  he  had  left  it;  and 
in  the  familiar  cabin  all  was  peaceful  and  orderly. 

Jim  got  up  for  a  drink,  thinking  to  shake  off  his 
nightmare  before  he  returned  to  bed.  With  the  glass 
halfway  to  his  lips  he  paused.  Rapid  footsteps  were  in- 
deed passing  his  door,  and  he  heard  orders  shouted.  And 
then  there  fell  a  quiet  that  seemed  somehow  out  of  place 
on  shipboard,  a.  quiet  that  rasped  his  already  overstrung 
nerves.  Hastily  getting  into  some  clothes,  he  flung  open 
the  door  that  led  on  deck. 

The  outer  air  came  raw  and  damp  against  his  face. 
Jim  hesitated  for  a  moment;  then  he  had  a  curious  im- 
pression that  the  Helga  wasn't  moving.  That  alone, 
added  to  his  previous  apprehensions,  was  enough  to  make 
him  start  down  the  deck  in  search  of  information. 

In  a  moment  he  knew  that  his  apprehension  had  some 
foundation;  for  grouped  together  on  the  after-deck, 
clearly  illuminated  by  a  large  electric  light,  were  three 
people  where  by  rights  at  that  hour  of  the  night  there 
should  have  been  none.  Miss  Lenox  was  standing  there 
in  her  white  fur  coat;  at  her  side,  facing  Jim,  was  the 


FAR  OUT  AT  SEA  113 

captain.  Mr.  Masterson,  a  lantern  swinging  from  his 
hand,  was  saying  something  to  them;  and  the  captain's 
eyes  and  mouth  were  as  round  as  marbles;  his  white 
beard  seemed  to  bristle  with  excitement  and  consterna- 
tion. Zoe  was  as  white  as  her  coat;  but  when  she  saw 
Jim  she  stopped  Mr.  Masterson,  and  stepped  toward  the 
newcomer.  "I  understand  perfectly,  Mr.  Masterson," 
she  said  with  a  polite  inclination  of  her  head.  "Thank 
you." 

She  took  Jim's  arm,  and  began  to  move  away.  She 
was  so  calm,  and  her  fingers  lay  so  lightly  on  his  sleeve, 
that  her  mere  pallor  would  not  have  betrayed  her  to 
Jim;  she  was  always  pale.  But  her  speech,  short  as  it 
was,  showed  that  she  too  was  deeply  moved;  for  the 
slight  burring  of  her  r*s  and  lengthening  of  her  vowels 
which  her  father  had  taught  her  when  he  taught  her 
English,  and  to  which  Jim  was  so  accustomed  that  in 
its  ordinary  manifestation  he  never  noticed  it  nowadays, 
had  become  almost  comically  pronounced.  As  much  to 
hear  her  speech  broaden  again  as  for  what  she  might 
have  to  say,  Jim  awaited  her  next  remark. 

"Let's  go  into  the  cabin,"  she  whispered,  and  then, 
rather  unexpectedly,  "You  were  a  long  time  coming." 

"There  has  been  an  accident?"  Jim  murmured  as  they 
stepped  inside  the  cabin  door. 

"An  accident?  Yes."  Zoe  surveyed  him  in  the  bright 
light  he  had  just  turned  on.  "It  spoils  one's  rest,  any- 
thing happening  so  in  the  night.  I  don't  feel  a  bit  sleepy. 
Do  you?"  Jim  shook  his  head.  "I  think  I  shall  send 
word  to  the  cook  to  get  breakfast." 

Her  hastily  coiled  hair  loosened  itself  just  then,  and 
descended  about  her  shoulders;  on  the  glistening  white 
of  her  coat  it  glistened  gold.  Unperturbed,  she  shook 
it  back.  "Shall  we  say  breakfast  in  half  an  hour?"  she 


114  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

suggested.     "That  is,  if  you  really  are  wide  awake?" 

She  must  have  hurried  her  toilet  that  early  morning; 
for  during  the  allotted  half  hour  she  not  only  dressed 
but  had  time  for  a  conference  with  her  officers.  At 
breakfast  she  was  perfectly  calm,  and  the  trace  of  for- 
eignness  in  her  speech  had  regained  its  usual  tenuous- 
ness.  But  she  ate  nothing,  and  between  her  successive 
cups  of  coffee  Jim  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  she  was 
watching  him.  Small  wonder  if  she  were,  of  course; 
but  he  couldn't  decide  on  the  mood  of  her  scrutiny. 

Finally  she  opened  fire.  "You  know,"  she  said,  lean- 
ing one  elbow  on  the  table,  "the  day  before  yesterday  you 
asked  me  to  turn  the  Helga  back." 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim,  surprised  at  her  coolness  in  al- 
luding to  that  scene. 

"Well,  the  Helga  won't  turn  back  for  a  few  days." 
Zoe  met  his  eye,  and  added  casually,  "She  has  had 
rather  an  accident — the  ice,  you  see." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean,"  Jim  wanted  to  know,  "by 
'rather  an  accident'?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  second,  then  risked  telling  him. 
"The  propeller  is  gone,"  she  said. 

Her  brief  sentence  conveyed  no  meaning  at  all  to 
Jim's  landlocked  mind.  "Don't  you  carry  an  extra  one, 
in  case  of  emergencies?"  he  asked. 

He  knew  from  her  smile  that  he  had  made  a  silly 
remark:  that  even  he,  after  being  so  long  aboard  the 
Helga,  should  have  known  better.  But  she  didn't  seem 
to  scorn  him  for  his  triviality,  even  if  it  did  amuse  her; 
and  she  began  at  once  to  talk  of  indifferent  matters. 

She  began,  and  she  continued.  She  had  never  be- 
fore put  herself  to  so  much  trouble  to  entertain  him ;  and 
Jim  was  puzzled  by  this  flow  of  general  conversation 
at  this  eerie  hour.  He  found  it  difficult  to  connect  with 


FAR  OUT  AT  SEA  115 

the  trumpery  accident  to  the  yacht;  and  was  driven  at 
length  to  suppose  that  she  remembered  all  too  well  the 
happenings  of  two  days  before,  and  was  talking  to  save 
the  situation.  Only — so  ran  his  mental  accompaniment 
to  her  talk — the  situation  hadn't  been  anything  like  that 
bad,  and  whatever  else  Zoe  was  doing,  she  didn't  seem 
to  be  treading  down  embarrassment. 

Be  her  motive  what  it  might,  however,  the  wonder- 
ful fact  remained :  she  dedicated  all  that  long  day  to  him. 
Once  only  she  withdrew  for  a  talk  with  her  officers; 
but  the  rest  of  the  day  was  Jim's,  even  to  queer  games 
of  cards  after  tea.  She  knew  games  for  two  of  which 
he  had  never  even  heard.  She  knew,  she  told  him,  prob- 
ably almost  every  game  for  two  that  had  ever  been  in- 
vented :  she  and  her  father  had  played  them  all.  What 
she  had  learned  from  Dan  Lenox  she  now  saw  fit  to 
teach  Jim  Whittaker ;  and  he  was  vaguely  elated  because 
she  perceived  no  incongruity  in  her  so  teaching. 

In  the  evening  she  once  more  played  the  piano  to 
him;  but  it  seemed  that  she  had  never  played  before  as 
she  played  now.  It  was  like  an  enchantment,  to  sit  here 
with  Zoe  in  warmth  and  brightness  and  music,  and  to 
think  of  the  disabled  Helga  lying  like  a  dead  thing  in 
the  midst  of  the  icy  sea. 

The  enchantment  finally  overcame  his  scruples :  or  had 
those  honourable  scruples  been  simply  the  unconscious 
product  of  his  lady's  coldness?  Perhaps  scruples  are 
never  anything  but  a  slight  precipitate  of  civilisation, 
readily  dissolved  in  the  sweetness  of  a  lady's  smile. 

For  when,  late  in  their  warm  bright  evening,  Zoe  rose 
from  the  piano,  Jim  rose  too  and  stretched  out  his  arms 
to  her.  Her  hands  met  his,  and  lay  quietly  within  them. 
Slowly  he  drew  her  toward  him ;  slowly,  exquisitely  she 
came,  her  face  white  as  marble,  her  eyes  almost  black  in 


116  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

the  shadow  of  her  drooping  lashes.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  until  after  their  lips  had  met ;  then  she  said  husk- 
ily, "Dear  Jim !  dear  Jim !"  and  his  plain  familiar  name 
so  pronounced  became  superb  and  regal. 

So  the  day's  long  talk  came  to  an  end ;  for  what  that 
tongue  could  say  would  not  be  an  anti-climax  after  the 
mute  speech  of  lips  and  eyes  and  hands?  She  was  his 
pearl  among  women,  utterly  adorable  and  supremely 
adored ;  yet  he  felt  that  that  would  have  been  but  a  tame 
thing  to  tell  her  after  the  divine  unconscious  eloquence 
of  her  child-like  "Dear  Jim!" 

They  did  not  linger  in  the  saloon  after  their  moment's 
embrace;  to  keep  a  moment  perfect,  one  should  not  try 
to  hold  it  too  long.  Again  that  night  Jim  did  not  sleep ; 
and  in  spite  of  accumulated  fatigue  he  was  glad  not  to 
sleep.  It  was  fitting  that  a  white  night  should  be  dedi- 
cated to  that  white  woman.  He  felt  that  in  her  state- 
room on  the  other  side  of  the  yacht  Zoe  was  not  sleep- 
ing. Half  their  lives  they  had  been  working  toward 
that  passing  moment;  the  other  half  must  date  from  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

UNCHARTED    WATERS 

OE  appeared  in  the  blue  saloon  next  morning,  and 
breakfasted  with  him.  This  was  only  the  second 
time  that  she  had  done  so  on  the  cruise ;  but  she  did  not 
repeat  yesterday's  talkativeness.  Her  "Good-morning" 
was  almost  shy;  she  sat  with  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  and 
said  nothing. 

Jim,  sitting  on  her  right  hand,  devoured  her  with  his 
eyes.  She  was  like  any  other  woman  in  love.  For  she 
was  in  love :  strange  fact,  so  strange  that  he  could  repeat 
it  over  and  over  to  himself,  always  with  a  fresh  sense 
of  its  novelty.  She,  Zoe  Lenox,  was  in  love  with  Jim 
Whittaker.  She  had  stooped  from  her  pedestal  to  his 
embrace.  And  behold  her  humble,  troubled,  exquisite; 
behold  her  altogether  human!  Jim  would  have  liked  to 
show  her  thus  to  Stuart  Evington;  yet  he  was  glad 
enough  that  he  hadn't  at  present  to  show  her  to  any- 
body. The  claims  of  the  world,  its  grinding  besmirch- 
ing complications,  its  silly  little  buzz  of  wonder,  would 
have  to  be  met  later  on.  Just  now  it  was  providential 
that  all  this  pother  was  so  far  off.  Jim  only  hoped  that 
the  Helga  wouldn't  be  repaired  for  a  day  or  two. 

After  breakfast  he  and  Zoe  stood  at  the  rail  and 
looked  forth  on  a  wilderness  of  grey  waters  with  a  grey 
sky  above.  There  is  much  space  wasted  in  the  southern 
hemisphere:  for  in  all  this  expanse  the  only  point  of 

117 


118  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

colour  and  sensation  was  where  Zoe  stood  motionless  by 
the  rail,  with  her  shoulder  touching  Jim's. 

Jim  roused  himself  once  to  ask,  "Is  the  Helga  stand- 
ing still?  She  seems  to  be." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  must  have  startled  his  com- 
panion, for  he  felt  her  quiver  against  him.  But  it  was 
in  the  calmest  tone  that  she  answered,  "She  is  drifting, 
of  course."  Zoe  was  always  very  polite  in  regard  to  his 
lubberism.  Her  politeness,  however,  didn't  encourage 
him  to  manifest  it  farther. 

They  went  back  to  the  main  saloon  presently,  and 
thence  to  the  blue  saloon  for  lunch.  But  saloon  or  dining- 
cabin  or  deck,  it  was  all  one  to  Jim,  so  long  as  they  were 
together.  And  that  day,  and  the  days  that  followed,  they 
were  constantly  together,  all  day  long,  he  triumphant  in 
his  love,  she  tremulous,  silent,  shy,  and  exquisite  in  hers. 
All  human,  all  woman,  this  Zoe  Lenox  in  love!  From 
his  Antarctic  perspective,  Jim  challenged  the  world  to 
produce  her  equal. 

In  the  hour  after  he  left  her  and  before  he  slept,  he 
had  time,  if  no  great  inclination,  to  think  things  over; 
and  it  struck  him  sometimes  in  his  midnight  meditation 
as  odd  that  Zoe,  having  fought  him  desperately  and  suc- 
cessfully so  long,  should  have  chosen  that  particular 
moment  to  yield.  He  might  almost  have  thought  that 
the  ship's  breakdown  had  influenced  her  to  yield.  Per- 
haps in  a  way  it  had.  Perhaps  she  chose  to  love  against 
a  drab  background  from  the  same  instinct  that  made 
her  robe  herself  severely,  scorning  jewels  and  minor 
adornments.  A  fine  enough  statue  didn't  fear  display 
against  a  sheer  blank  wall.  But  Jim  was  in  no  anxiety 
to  know  whether  or  not  this  theory  was  correct.  He 
was  just  now  too  blissful  to  be  critical. 

This  close  daily  and  hourly  companionship  with  Zoe 


UNCHARTED  WATERS  119 

naturally  drew  him  away  from  even  such  beginnings  of 
companionship  as  he  had  made'  with  the  other  souls  on 
the  Helga.  Once  or  twice  he  fancied  that  Mr.  Master- 
son  looked  at  him  curiously  under  his  habitual  scowl; 
but  as  Jim  stared  back  the  notion  dwindled,  and  he  set 
its  inception  down  to  his  own  self-consciousness  over  the 
fact  that  Zoe  loved  him.  And  for  the  most  part  Jim 
lived  as  if  there  had  been  no  one  on  board  the  Helga  but 
himself  and  Zoe,  served  occasionally  with  the  semblance 
of  meals  by  some  pale  ghost  of  a  steward. 

One  day,  however,  Jim  did  seek  a  chat  with  the  cap- 
tain. By  way  of  beginning  the  young  man  asked  where 
the  Helga  was  drifting;  and  the  ancient  mariner  re- 
plied evasively,  and  was  presently  relating  a  long  story 
of  the  time  when  he  had  served  in  the  East  Indies.  "Ex- 
actly as  if  he  wanted  to  throw  me  off  the  track,"  thought 
Jim.  "I  don't  believe  the  old  humbug  himself  knows 
where  we  are."  „ 

He  conceived  a  suspicion  that  the  captain  was  incom- 
petent; but  he  decided  to  say  nothing  to  Zoe  about  it. 
Zoe  was  worried  anyhow.  He  would  catch  her  eyes  on 
him  sometimes  with  the  strangest  beseeching  look,  and 
when  he  caught  her  so  her  glance  was  always  averted  at 
once,  as  if  she  felt  that  it  betrayed  her.  "She  looks 
exactly  as  if  she  had  something  to  ask  my  pardon  for, 
or  even  something  she  was  afraid  to  tell  me,"  he  thought. 
It  was  more  likely,  though,  that  she  was  worried  about 
herself  and  the  problem  of  making  this  love  fit  into  a 
life  with  which  it  was  after  all  incongruous.  That  was 
like  a  woman,  and  even,  it  appeared,  like  a  super-woman : 
one  and  all,  they  would  let  the  uncertain  future  over- 
shadow a  perfect  if  fleeting  bliss. 

He  tried  to  draw  her  to  his  own  way  of  looking  at 
things;  and  she  seemed  to  make  an  effort  to  see  things 


120  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

as  he  did.  But  as  the  days  went  by  and  the  Helga  still 
drifted,  she  became  not  less  but  more  uneasy.  A  brood- 
ing dejection  overhung  her.  It  lifted  at  moments:  his 
kisses  could  always  lift  it,  or  cheerful  whimsical  talk. 
But  in  their  silences,  which  Jim  would  otherwise  have 
loved,  it  always  came  back,  and  when  he  returned  to  her 
after  an  absence,  it  was  invariably  to  find  a  dark  spirit  in 
possession. 

Her  dark  moods  were  wonderful,  to  be  sure ;  and  the 
connoisseur  in  him,  the  side  to  which  Zoe  had  first  ap- 
pealed, savoured  them.  Blondes  were  in  general  likely, 
Jim  seemed  to  remember,  to  attain  no  higher  than  a 
simple  peevishness.  He  took  it  as  final  proof  of  Zoe's 
once  debatable  humanness  that  she  gloomed  like  the 
daughter  of  her  powerful  sullen  father,  sulked  with  a 
mighty  Celtic  sulk. 

His  effort  to  raise  Zoe  from  her  dejection  combined 
with  his  own  reaction  against  it  to  lift  Jim  into  a  state 
of  exaltation.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  nothing  could 
ever  affect  for  the  worse  a;  life  that  had  been  so  smiled 
upon.  And  although  he  realised  the  comedy  of  his 
state,  he  humoured  it.  One  does  not  reject  the  gifts  of 
the  gods,  even  their  famous  fatal  preliminary  madness. 

Zoe  gave  a  final  proof  of  her  subjectness  to  the  com- 
mon lot  by  one  day  worrying  herself  into  a  nervous  head- 
ache. To  Jim,  at  the  breakfast-table  which  had  never  of 
late  been  solitary,  her  maid  came  bringing  a  note.  Zoe 
thought  of  keeping  her  state-room  for  the  day ;  she  was, 
sure  that  a  day's  uninterrupted  rest  would  put  her  back 
on  her  feet. 

Jim  scribbled  a  reply,  bidding  her  take  all  possible  care 
of  herself.  He  would  miss  her,  of  course,  but  she  mustn't 
mind  that.  Only,  if  her  headache  got  better  she  must 
come  to  him.  He  gave  his  note  into  the  hand  of  Zoe's 


UNCHARTED  WATERS 

t 

maid ;  above  her  extended  ape-like  hand  the  strange  crea- 
ture looked  at  him  very  hard.  It  was  only  natural,  doubt- 
less, that  she  should;  she  must  know  that  he  was  Zoe's 
beloved,  she  doubtless  wondered  about  the  whole  rela- 
tion in  her  outlandish  way.  But  Jim  shuddered  at  her; 
he  only  forced  himself  to  meet  her  eye  by  thinking 
sternly,  "I  won't  let  a  nigger  stare  me  out  of  counte- 
nance." As  she  turned  away  he  had  a  vision  of  those 
ape-like  hands  busied  about  Zoe's  head  and  hair;  and 
he  shuddered  afresh,  and  uncontrollably. 

Jim  went  on  deck  presently,  to  face  the  day  without 
Zoe.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  bereft  of  an  arm,  a  leg,  and 
half  his  mind,  but  supposed  he  should  get  through  some- 
how. He  smoked  and  walked.  He  essayed  speech  with 
Mr.  Masterson,  who  had  not  a  word  to  say  for  himself ; 
with  the  captain,  who  talked,  indeed,  but  very  bad-tem- 
peredly;  even  with  the  steward,  that  pale  shadow  of  a 
man.  He  tried  to  talk  with  one  of  the  sailors,  who  looked 
at  him  askance.  Nobody  entertained  him  even  passingly, 
and  about  everybody  he  had  the  oddest  illusion:  it 
seemed  to  him  that  they  all  cast  on  him  in  their  differing 
ways  the  same  sinister  glance  as  the  Malay.  Doubtless 
they  had  all  seen  the  change  in  his  relations  with  Zoe; 
doubtless  they  thought  the  whole  episode  of  his  being 
there  and  making  love  to  her  very  strange,  as  indeed  it 
was.  But  their  perception  of  the  situation  between  him 
and  Zoe  wasn't  what  bothered  Jim.  That  situation  had 
now  worked  itself  out  to  the  finest  Tightness  and  regu- 
larity, as  everybody  would  presently  understand;  and 
meanwhile  Jim  in  his  fine  high  freedom  wasn't  afraid 
of  glances.  What  troubled  him  to-day  was  a  ridiculous 
but  powerful  feeling  that  there  was  something — some- 
thing in  some  way  affecting  him — which  everybody  on 


122  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

board  knew  except  himself,  and  which  everybody  was 
in  a  conspiracy  to  keep  him  from  finding  out. 

This  strong  uncanny  feeling  was  doubtless  due  simply 
to  the  fact  that  he  missed  Zoe,  and  hadn't  adjusted  him- 
self to  doing  without  her.  Determined,  however,  at  least 
to  act  sensible  whatever  his  sensations,  Jim  established 
himself  in  the  main  saloon  with  an  armful  of  books. 
They  were  all  works  of  an  English-writing  foreigner 
who  had  himself  once  been  a  sailor,  a  man  who  was 
just  beginning  to  attract  attention  in  America.  He  was 
an  old  favourite  of  Zoe's.  "A  sailor-man  himself,"  she 
had  said  to  Jim.  "What  a  sailor  he  must  have  been!" 
From  Zoe  that  was,  indeed,  high  praise. 

The  sailor-man's  novels  looked  a  little  sustained  for 
Jim's  present  mood :  "He  is  a  substantial  writer,"  Zoe 
would  say.  A  volume  of  short  pieces  on  various  aspects 
of  the  sea  and  sea  life  appealed  more  to  Jim's  present 
mood.  He  opened  it,  and  skimmed  along  with  consid- 
erable satisfaction  and  growing  respect  for  a  hundred 
pages  or  so.  If  this  author  were  seamanlike,  then  to  be 
seamanlike  was  evidently  to  be  of  a  world  apart;  but 
to  be  this  particular  seamanlike  author  was  to  make  the 
world  apart  comprehensible  to  a  member  of  Jim's  world. 

The  author  went  on  presently  to  talk  of  ships  missing 
and  overdue.  Even  to  a  landsman,  these  things  implied 
drama.  With  heightened  attention  Jim  read  on.  "  'Of 
all  ships  disabled  at  sea/  "  began  one  paragraph,  "  'a 
steamer  who  has  lost  her  propeller  is  the  most  helpless. 
And  if  she  drifts  into  an  unpopulated  part  of  the  ocean 
she  may  soon  become  overdue.' ' 

Jim  stopped  reading  with  the  start  of  one  jerked  from 
the  pleasant  world  of  selected  impressions  by  the  icy 
hand  of  reality.  "  'Of  all  ships  disabled  at  sea,  a 
steamer  who  has  lost  her  propeller  is  the  most  helpless.' ' 


UNCHARTED  WATERS  123 

And  the  Helga  had  lost  her  propeller.  "  'If  she  drifts 
into  an  unpopulated  part  of  the  ocean — '  "  The  Helga 

was  in  an  unpopulated  part  of  the  ocean.  "  ' she  may 

soon  become  overdue.' '  While  he  sat  there,  compla- 
cently reading  books  in  the  beautiful  little  saloon,  the 
ship  was  as  good  as  lost ! 

This  was  what  everybody  on  board  but  himself  had 
known,  and  had  tried  to  keep  from  Jim.  His  first  sen- 
sation was  one  of  humiliation  at  being  thus  deceived; 
one  would  have  supposed  him  a  baby.  Probably  every- 
body did  suppose  him  a  fool.  It  was  only  after  a  minute 
or  two  of  this  protest  of  his  ego  that  Jim's  civilised  brain 
began  to  grope  with  the  fact  itself,  the  fact  of  imminent 
physical  disaster.  The  danger  might  for  all  he  knew  be 
acute:  he  himself  and  his  magnificent  Zoe  and  all  the 
other  souls  on  board  might  be  within  sight  of  their 
reckoning.  And  at  the  idea  that  the  end  which  we  ac- 
cept perhaps  as  inevitable  but  completely  ignore  every 
hour  of  our  protected,  insulated  lives,  could  be,  was, 
right  there  ahead  of  him,  just  as  his  dinner  and  his  bed- 
time were,  Jim  sat  stunned  and  gaping. 

Even  as  he  sat  so,  the  door  opened,  and  Zoe  appeared 
in  the  opening.  She  stood  for  a  moment  with  one  hand 
resting  against  the  door- jamb ;  all  about  her  was  an  ex- 
quisite faint  languor.  A  trailing  green  scarf  around  her 
shoulders  brought  out  every  gleam  of  gold  in  her  high- 
piled  hair.  Under  her  eyes  the  skin  was  faintly  blue,  and 
on  her  lips  she  wore  the  smile  of  a  woman  who  does 
something  consciously  heroic,  and  expects  to  be  praised 
for  it.  All  this  Jim  saw;  but  if  he  thought  anything,  it 
was  only  that  soon,  very  soon  now,  this  complex  won- 
derful product  of  the  ages  and  the  climes  would  sink  into 
nothingness. 

When  he  said  nothing,  Zoe  spoke.     "I  got  so  lonely 


124  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

without  you,  Jim,"  she  said.  She  said  it  sweetly,  without 
a  shade  of  reproach. 

"Is  your  head  better?"  asked  Jim  mechanically. 

The  deadened  tone  of  his  voice  revealed  to  her  that 
something  was  wrong.  She  looked  hard  at  him,  looked 
down  at  the  book  he  hdd.  She  sprang  to  his  side,  and 
over  his  shoulder  read  what  he  had  just  read.  Her  agon- 
ised cry  rang  through  the  cabin,  "Jim!  Jim!"  She 
grasped  his  arm  convulsively,  and  burst  into  tears. 

Jim  soothed  her  as  best  he  might :  seated  her  and  knelt 
beside  her,  kissed  and  petted  her  as  if  she  had  been  a 
frightened  child.  Like  a  frightened  child  she  continued 
to  cling  to  him ;  and  with  her  sobs  in  his  ears  he  caught 
himself  once  or  twice  wondering  what  he  was  doing  here 
and  what  the  pother  was  all  about. 

"You  know  now,"  she  said  at  length,  when  she  was 
quiet  enough  for  speech. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jim.  "You  have  known  for  a  long 
time?"  She  nodded  mutely.  "And  everybody  else  on 
board  knew  too?"  She  did  not  answer.  "I  asked  you 
a  question,  Zoe,"  he  said  coldly. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  she  began  chokingly.  "I  wanted 
to.  But  I  couldn't.  After  I  brought  you  along  so  wan- 
tonly, to  have  you  know  that  by  my  persistence  in  folly 
I  had  perhaps  thrown  away  all  our  lives — I  couldn't  tell 
you  that." 

"We  are  as  good  as  lost?"  he  asked. 

"By  no  means.     But  we  are  in  real  danger." 

"You  are  telling  me  the  full  truth  this  time?" 

"The  full  truth,"  said  Zoe,  meeting  his  eye. 

"It  all  depends  on  our  chance  of  rescue?"  he  wanted 
to  know. 

"Yes.  On  that,  and  of  course  on  our  holding  out. 
We  have  plenty  of  water — the  Helga  was  built  with  a 


UNCHARTED  WATERS  125 

f 

very  large  tank ;  and  there's  coal  enough  to  keep  us  warm 
a  long  time.  But  food " 

"It's  half  rations,  then,"  muttered  Jim.  "After  all, 
that's  no  worse  than  what  most  fashionable  women  en- 
dure all  the  time,  for  the  sake  of  their  appearance." 

Zoe  actually  smiled  at  that,  so  great  was  her  relief 
now  that  he  knew.  She  sank  down  in  a  low  chair  before 
the  fire,  and  rested  her  chin  in  her  hand.  She  wasn't 
even  concerned  to  learn  what  he  thought  of  her  duplic- 
ity. Perhaps  relief  overshadowed  her  self-consciousness 
for  the  time  being;  or  perhaps  what  Jim  Whittaker 
chanced  to  think  of  her  was  simply  the  least  of  her 
troubles. 

Jim  himself  wasn't  doing  anything  that  could  be  called 
thinking.  A  mighty  surge  of  sensation  battered  him, 
now  on  this  side,  now  on  that;  and  he  could  feel  it  lift- 
ing him  little  by  little  up,  up,  up  to  where  the  Jim  he  had 
left  behind  could  never  have  got. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  cabin,  steadily, 
restlessly,  never  varying  the  rhythm  of  his  walk.  Some- 
times when  he  passed  her  he  looked  at  Zoe;  but  Zoe,  chin 
in  hand  and  eyes  on  the  fire,  did  not  glance  up,  did  not 
even  seem  to  feel  his  presence.  The  lovely  face  half 
averted,  the  absolute  motionlessness,  even  her  complete 
lack  of  nervousness  as  he  raged  to  and  fro  behind  her 
chair — they  were  all  typical.  Often  and  often  that  in 
Zoe  for  which  they  stood  had  held  Jim  back;  now  it 
lured  him  on. 

He  left  the  cabin  presently,  and  measured  the  deck  in 
his  restless  round.  Here  he  was  held  prisoner  on  this 
hulk.  If  he  could  have  got  out  and  away — But  if  he 
could  have  got  out  and  away,  he  wouldn't  have  gone. 
If  unlimited  friendly  land  had  been  right  at  his  hand, 
he  would  still  have  turned  and  gone  back  to  Zoe.  He 


126  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

would  have  gone  back  to  her,  as  he  was  going  now. 

It  was  really  an  hour  or  so  before  he  went  back,  though 
he  knew  that  his  holding  off  did  not  alter  the  situation, 
except,  perhaps,  as  it  allowed  the  surges  to  carry  him 
higher.  When  at  length  he  opened  the  cabin  door  and 
went  back  to  her,  Zoe  still  sat  just  as  he  had  left  her. 

Jim  went  and  stood  near  her,  with  his  back  to  the 
fire;  thunder-claps  deafened  the  ears  of  his  spirit,  and 
lightning  seemed  to  rend  him.  Then  Zoe  looked  up  at 
him.  She  had  never  looked  quite  so  sweetly  or  so  can- 
didly; she  had  never  seemed  so  young.  Before  her 
flower-like  candour,  her  May-like  youth,  the  lightning  in 
Jim  ran  into  a  solid  tongue  of  flame.  He  found  his 
voice,  found  words,  found  what  must  be  said  once  and 
for  all. 

"Zoe,"  he  began. 

"Yes,  Jim?" 

"We  may  never  reach  home,  Zoe." 

Her  breath  came  tremulously;  she  echoed,  "Never." 

"Do  you  love  me,  Zoe  ?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Then,  Zoe,  will  you  be  my  wife  here  and  now,  in 
this  interval  of  time  that  we  may  still  call  ours?" 

Her  face  fell;  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 
The  thunder-claps  in  Jim's  ears  ceased;  in  a  silence  that 
seemed  as  if  it  spanned  everything  and  would  go  on  to 
all  eternity,  he  stood  over  her  and  waited. 

Suddenly  Zoe  slipped  to  the  edge  of  her  chair,  and 
leaned  over.  Jim  wondered  what  she  was  going  to  do, 
wondered  it  vaguely,  in  this  strange  silence  that  had  fal- 
len upon  his  spirit.  She  picked  up  the  fire-tongs,  and 
carefully  selected  a  coal.  Jim,  moving  just  enough  to 
keep  her  various  motions  in  sight,  followed  the  coal  with 
his  eyes. 


UNCHARTED  WATERS  127 

s 

She  shook  back  the  drapery  from  her  left  wrist;  her 
right  hand  held  the  tongs  midway.  Deliberately  Zoe 
laid  the  coal  on  her  bare  wrist,  just  where  the  blue  veins 
came  nearest  the  surface.  For  a  moment  she  held  it  un- 
wincingly  there.  Jim's  movement  of  protest  checked  it- 
self halfway.  The  sharp  odour  of  burning  flesh  came  to 
his  nostrils. 

Again  she  leaned  forward,  and  groped  with  her  tongs. 
With  an  alacrity  that  left  no  time  for  volition,  Jim  held 
out  his  own  wrist ;  a  moment  later  a  thin  trail  of  pungent 
blue  smoke  ascended  from  it. 

The  tongs  dropped  clattering  from  Zoe's  hand.  Jim 
put  his  arms  about  her,  and  drew  her  up  to  him.  For 
an  instant  they  stood  together  so,  knee  to  knee,  heart  to 
heart,  lip  to  lip.  Then  she  seemed  to  droop  against  him ; 
and  as  she  drooped  she  drew  him. 

She  drew  him  away  from  the  hearth  where  the  tongs 
had  fallen,  out  of  the  defiled  cabin,  on  and  on,  into  the 
spot  on  shipboard  where  he  had  never  been.  Or  did  he 
draw  her?  In  spite  of  the  surges  and  the  lightning, 
Jim's  mind  had  been  clear  enough  up  to  this  point;  but 
always  afterward  there  was  a  haziness  about  those  later 
details  of  his  strange  barbaric  nuptials. 


CHAPTER  X 
JIM   SIGHTS   UNWELCOME  FACTS 

A  STRANGE  thing  curiously  sought  may  still  be 
strange  when  we  come  upon  it ;  but  a  strange  thing 
that  has  made  itself  our  own  may  be  at  length  life's 
sweetest  and  most  familiar  possession. 

Nothing  surely  could  be  stranger  than  for  a  young 
man  like  Jim  Whittaker,  born,  bred  and  colleged  in  the 
most  accepted  and,  to  his  judgment  as  well  as  that  of  his 
elders,  quite  the  best  way,  a  young  man  very  rational, 
very  collected,  and  even  a  little  tepid,  than  to  be  thus 
floating  about  the  Antarctic  on  a  derelict  ship  as  the 
lover  of  Zoe  Lenox.  Yet  to  Whittaker,  so  floating,  it 
seemed  that  this  was  the  one  thing  he  had  been  born, 
bred,  and  colleged  to  do.  He  blessed  the  very  rationality 
and  collectedness  that  enabled  him  to  focus  so  on  this; 
he  blessed  even  the  tepidity  that  had  kept  him  out  of 
minor  scrapes,  and  allowed  him  to  go  thus  virgin  and 
whole-heartedly  into  a  scrape  that  was  so  mightily  worth 
while. 

His  curious  position  never  troubled  or  baffled  him. 
What  did  trouble  him  sometimes,  and  what  baffled  him 
when  he  tried  to  bring  his  focussed  rationality  to  bear, 
was  something  in  Zoe  herself.  It  was  a  fierceness  of 
passion  which  sometimes  bewildered  and  sometimes 
almost  frightened  him.  There  was  passion  enough  in 
his  own  love,  to  be  sure;  yet  if  he  had  fallen  some  little 
behind  her,  he  would  not  have  been  surprised.  After 

128 


JIM  SIGHTS  UNWELCOME  FACTS         129 

all  Jim  Whittaker  was  a  slow  and  gentle  individual, 
who  would  perhaps  three-quarters  of  the  time  rather 
dream  a  passion  than  act  it  out.  But  Zoe's  stormy  out- 
bursts, her  sudden  drawings  back  and  quick  renewals, 
her  coming  at  him  fairly,  sometimes,  as  if  she  had  but 
this  moment  of  eternity  in  which  to  love  him,  and  must 
in  mere  greed  and  pressure  eat  him  up — all  this  left  Jim 
rather  stunned.  He  had  to  remind  himself  very  ration- 
ally whose  daughter  she  was,  and  what  an  autocrat  her 
training  had  made  her,  and  how  unusual  were  the  cir- 
cumstances of  this  love  of  theirs.  At  these  moments  it 
was  recalled  to  him  that  he  had  originally  considered  Zoe 
Lenox  a  hanger-back  from  life. 

Another  thing  that  came  to  him  sometimes  in  the 
same  pallid  intellectual  way  was  the  fact  that  he  might 
have  minded  the  situation  on  board  the  Helga,  that  he 
ought  rather  to  have  minded  it.  But  he  didn't  seem  to. 
As  day  followed  day,  he  came  nearer  to  rescue,  or  death ; 
and  he  knew  it.  But  he  had  no  enthusiasm  to  spare  for 
that  knowledge,  no  fear,  nothing  that  would  lend  it  col- 
our and  transform  it  into  a  breathing  fact  of  his  life.  He 
wasn't  consciously  courageous;  if  things  had  been  but 
a  very  little  different,  he  might  have  been  consciously 
cowardly.  As  it  was,  the  mere  life  and  death  issue  left 
him  simply  indifferent. 

It  may  have  been  that  some  actual  deep-rooted  phi- 
losophy came  to  Jim's  aid.  Of  course,  we  pass  most  of 
our  life  in  ignoring  the  inevitable  end  of  the  bright  hu- 
man comedy;  and  perhaps  Jim  may  have  rested  now  in 
his  perception  that  he  was  no  nearer  the  actual  end  at 
present  than  on  many  a  day  when  he  had  gone  from  his 
own  flat  to  his  office,  and  dined  at  a  friend's,  and  so 
back  in  quietness  to  his  own  bed.  But  it  is  more  likely 
that  he  didn't  worry  about  drowning  or  freezing  because 


130  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

there  was  more  danger  of  his  being  suffocated  by  the 
woman  Zoe.  And  he  was  mad  about  her;  and  no  hu- 
man soul  admits  the  sway  of  two  ruling  passions  at  the 
same  time. 

His  madness  had  every  chance  to  prove  itself,  and 
even  to  perceive  in  the  woman  a  hint  of  true  greatness, 
as  distinguished  from  the  mere  trappings  of  greatness, 
from  beauty  and  fortune.  For  days  came  when  food 
was  very  short,  and  even  fuel  threatened  to  give  out. 
The  grey  Antarctic  tossed  to  a  bare  horizon,  with  noth- 
ing but  ice  to  break  the  monotony.  Jim  and  Zoe,  fur- 
wrapped  and  wan,  sat  in  the  cabin,  huddled  over  a  miser- 
able bit  of  fire ;  or  shoulder  to  shoulder  they  would  walk 
the  deck,  and  stop  to  look  out  over  the  wilderness  of 
water,  and  then  walk  again.  By  the  greying  of  Zoe's 
face  Jim  measured  the  greying  of  his  own.  But  her 
greyness  was  as  eloquent  as  if  she  had  assumed  it  only 
for  the  purpose  of  eloquence;  and  her  essential  golden- 
ness  made  vibrant  for  him  the  vast  silences  of  the  Ant- 
arctic. 

It  was  final  proof  of  Jim's  state  that  he  felt  consist- 
ently as  if  he  and  Zoe  were  the  only  souls  on  board  the 
Helga.  Jim  was  by  nature  neither  callous  nor  cruel; 
yet  in  the  midst  of  these  endangered  lives  he  couldn't 
recognise  anybody  but  himself  and  his  adored  one  as 
living  at  all.  He  passed  the  captain  and  the  mate  with 
oblivious  eyes;  if  he  spared  them  a  thought,  it  was  that 
in  the  present  peril  they  were  probably  eyeless  for  him, 
too. 

Mr.  Masterson,  indeed,  was  as  good  as  eyeless  a  great 
part  of  the  time  now.  It  had  always  been  rather  more 
than  suspected  that  he  was  a  hard  drinker  on  shore; 
but  except  for  the  hint  he  had  given  the  evening  the 
Helga  sailed,  his  conduct  on  shipboard  had  always,  so 


JIM  SIGHTS  UNWELCOME  FACTS        131 

far  as  was  known,  been  exemplary.  But  in  these  dark 
days  he  drew  steadily  on  some  private  store  of  whiskey : 
and  the  only  contrast  he  showed  to  being  drunk  was 
when  he  was  drunker.  It  is  proof  of  what  had  become 
of  the  ship's  discipline  that  his  transgression  was  winked 
at.  In  general,  to  be  sure,  he  was  quiet  enough,  and 
only  slightly  more  saturnine  than  usual;  but  sometimes 
his  intoxication  took  the  form  of  a  sort  of  staring  rude- 
ness toward  Zoe.  Once  Jim  called  her  attention  to  it; 
but  Zoe  only  said  quietly,  "You  can't  blame  him,  Jim. 
And  I  don't  mind." 

So  Masterson's  conduct  went  in  with  the  other  things 
that  Jim  didn't  mention.  Among  them  was  the  posi- 
tion of  the  Helga.  She  had  drifted,  of  late,  rather  to- 
ward the  north:  a  circumstance  which,  to  Jim's  mind, 
decreased  the  probability  of  the  ship's  being  crushed 
among  ice-floes,  and  therefore  increased  the  likelihood 
of  their  all  starving.  One  might  have  hoped  for  an  end 
a  trifle  less  protracted ;  and  yet  to  them  in  their  various 
sorts  of  intoxication  perhaps  even  starvation  would 
seem  to  go  fearfully  fast. 

One  day,  when  he  was  rather  less  drunk  than  usual, 
Mr.  Masterson  fell  on  the  deck  and  broke  his  leg.  Zoe's 
maid,  who  had  been  in  a  sickening  funk  for  weeks, 
somewhere  in  the  penumbra  of  Jim's  consciousness,  came 
suddenly  and  sharply  into  the  limelight.  She  set  the 
leg,  with  the  assistance  of  one  of  the  crew.  Zoe  found 
the  bandages  and  handed  them;  she  looked  admiringly 
on  as  those  ape-like  black  paws  went  about  their  work. 
Jim  felt  a  childish  jealousy  of  those  hands  and  the  ad- 
miration they  evoked  in  Zoe.  He  said  as  much  to  her 
as  she  turned  away;  he  wished  that  a  liberal  education 
had  included  the  art  of  bone-setting. 

Zoe  smiled  in  appreciation,  and  said  sweetly,  "If  you 


132  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

would  really  like  to  do  something,  suppose  you  sit  be- 
side him  for  a  while  and  see  if  he  wants  anything." 

A  few  minutes  later  Jim  was  actually  alone  with  the 
mate.  Masterson  lay  with  closed  eyes,  asleep  or  ex- 
hausted; his  little  cabin  was  very,  very  quiet.  Jim  ex- 
amined the  contents  of  the  book-shelf,  a  scanty  nautical 
collection  that  could  not  interest  him.  Then  he  turned 
to  some  photographs  that  were  tacked  up  nearby.  One 
picture  showed  a  placid  English  countryside,  one  a  fine 
English  family,  father,  mother,  shy  sister,  and  three 
tall  sons,  of  whom  this  present  Masterson  was  the  tall- 
est. The  pictured  face  was  young,  and  handsome  and 
proud ;  but  it  showed  a  trace  of  the  sullenness  which  had 
evidently  developed  later.  Jim  turned  to  look  at  the 
original  in  the  berth,  and  it  seemed  to  him  wan  and  piti- 
ful. He  stooped  over  the  recumbent  man;  but  as  he 
stooped  a  faint  smell  of  alcohol  reached  his  nostrils. 
Disgusted,  Jim  snatched  a  book  and  sat  down. 

He  looked  up  once,  with  some  idea  of  searching  for 
concealed  whiskey  bottles;  but  Masterson's  helplessness 
forbade.  You  couldn't  take  advantage  of  a  man  so  pat- 
ently down,  even  for  the  man's  own  good.  Jim  returned 
doggedly  to  his  book,  which  was  a  treatise  on  naviga- 
tion, and  not  particularly  distracting  to  his  thoughts. 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  later  that  he  looked  up 
suddenly,  to  find  Mr.  Masterson's  eyes  on  him.  Jim 
nodded  cheerfully.  "Want  anything?"  he  asked. 

The  sick  man  did  not  reply.  He  continued  to  look, 
unmoving,  unwinking,  until  his  steady  stare  made  Jim 
uncomfortable.  Jim  got  up  and  restored  his  book  to  its 
place;  he  bent  over  Masterson,  and  rearranged  the  bed- 
clothes. Before  that  unwinking  stare  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  ministering  to  a  corpse. 

Suddenly  the  corpse  stirred  under  his  hands ;  the  tense 


JIM  SIGHTS  UNWELCOME  FACTS        133 

lips  opened  and  spoke.  "She  loves  you,"  said  Mr.  Mas- 
terson. 

"What?"  asked  Jim,  not  believing  his  ears. 

"She  loves  you,"  repeated  Masterson,  slowly  and  rea- 
sonably, even  with  manifest  patience. 

Jim  looked  hard  at  him ;  but  this  was  neither  delirium 
nor  alcoholism.  "Better  keep  quiet,"  he  advised. 

"Quiet!"  Masterson's  voice  was  still  low,  but  it 
seemed  to  penetrate  to  every  corner  of  the  room,  and 
then  echo  back  to  Jim's  ears. 

"Quiet!"  said  Masterson  again.  "Do  you  think  any 
man  can  be  near  Zoe  Lenox  and  then  ever  be  quiet  after- 
ward?" 

"Don't  think  about  her  now,"  urged  Jim  soothingly. 

"Don't  think  about  her?  I'm  not  thinking  about  her; 
I  don't  have  to  think  about  her.  She's  in  me — in  me." 
Masterson  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  hurt  his  leg,  and 
fell  back  groaning;  drops  of  perspiration  came  out  on  his 
forehead.  "I  sailed  with  her  a  few  cruises,  she  said 
half-a-dozen  sentences  to  me  in  all  that  time,  and  I'm 
done  for,"  he  groaned.  "I  never  used  to  drink,  and  I'm 
never  sober  any  more ;  I'll  drink  myself  to  death,  I  sup- 
pose, if  I  don't  do  worse.  Anything  to  forget  for  a  mo- 
ment her  damned  white  face,  her  eyes  that  look  as  if 
she  could  love  you,  would  love  you,  wanted  to  love  you, 
when  all  the  time  she's  cold,  cold,  cold." 

Jim  wanted  to  tell  him  to  stop ;  but  he  hung  fascinated 
on  the  man's  rapid,  bitter  words.  "Why  should  any  man 
love  her,  the  harpy?"  Masterson  swept  on.  "It's  only 
an  accident  that  any  one  loves  her.  But  men  do — men 
do.  And  the  lucky  ones,  those  in  her  own  class,  interest 
her  for  a  time;  she  warms  herself  on  them.  But  she's 
too  superior  even  to  sell  out  to  them.  Up  to  now — and 


134  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

now  she  falls  in  love  with  you."  He  took  Jim  in  with  a 
scornful  glance. 

Jim  smiled.  "That  is — hard  to  understand,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

Masterson  was  a  little  disarmed.  He  stirred  in  his 
berth  and  muttered,  "Well,  live  up  to  her — if  you  can. 
And  keep  her,  or  she'll  turn  to  poison  in  your  blood." 
His  eyes  closed ;  he  looked  suddenly  quite  spent.  "Give 
me  a  drink,"  he  gasped. 

A  moment  later  Masterson  was  again  lying  with  closed 
eyes;  and  Jim  watched  beside  him  in  silence.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  after  that  revelation  something  farther 
must  be  said;  standing  so,  that  curious  burst  of  talk 
meant  nothing,  and  even  accused  Jim  of  a  certain  cad- 
dishness  in  having  listened  to  it.  But  of  course  the  true 
explanation  was  that  it  actually  did  mean  nothing.  Mas- 
terson was  evidently  the  victim  of  a  ridiculous  passion 
for  Zoe;  and  his  hopelessness,  and  his  whiskey,  and  the 
nervous  shock  of  his  fall,  had  combined  to  make  him  say 
things  that  hadn't  any  meaning,  or  any  bearing. 

Jim  Grayed  with  Masterson  until  dinner-time;  the  sick 
man  neither  moved  nor  spoke  again.  "How  did  you 
leave  your  patient  ?"  asked  Zoe  when  he  joined  her. 

"Oh,  he  talked  a  little;  he's  quiet  now,"  said  Jim. 

They  sat  down  to  a  dinner  still  served  with  some  show 
of  order,  but  exiguous.  Zoe  didn't  eat  anything,  hadn't 
eaten  for  days.  Jim  still  kept  his  appetite;  but  to-night 
he  found  himself  inclined  to  palter  with  his  food.  Some- 
how, there  was  something  different  in  the  atmosphere. 
And  yet  Zoe  was  as  golden  as  ever,  as  vibrant  as  she 
had  only  lately,  apparently,  learned  how  to  be.  Well, 
if  his  peace  was  a  bit  disturbed,  probably  he  should  get 
it  back  some  time,  as  good  as  ever.  His  peace  ?  Well, 
yes ;  he  might  almost  call  it  that,  this  element  so  blended, 


JIM  SIGHTS  UNWELCOME  FACTS        135 

compounded,  so  warm  and  exquisite,  this  insulating 
medium  wherein  he  had  come  to  float  so  freely.  He  cer- 
tainly might  call  it  peace,  for  ever  so  slight  a  disturbance 
in  its  delicate  balance  made  him  feel  as  he  was  feeling 
to-night. 

"Are  you  pensive,  Jim?"  asked  Zoe  when  they  were 
alone  after  dinner. 

"Pensive,  a  bit,"  he  answered. 

She  drew  him  to  the  settle,  and  established  herself 
with  her  head  against  his  shoulder.  "Light  a  cigarette," 
she  commanded.  "There,  that's  better." 

"Zoe,"  asked  Jim  as  he  smoked,  "what  ever  made  you 
admit  that  you  loved  me?" 

She  laughed.  "You  are  the  slowest  man  ever  born, 
Jimmie,"  she  said.  "Here  we've  loved  each  other  for 
weeks  and  weeks,  and  you've  never  asked  that  sort  of 
question  before." 

"Well,  a  fact  is  usually  enough  for  me,"  he  explained. 
"But  I  have  wondered,  if  I  haven't  spoken." 

"Go  on  wondering,"  she  suggested  lazily.  "Or  ex- 
plain it  to  suit  yourself;  one  explanation  is  exactly  as 
good  as  another." 

There  was  wisdom  in  that ;  and  her  exquisite  nearness 
was  not  favourable  to  argument.  Jim  rested  his  cheek 
against  her  hair,  and  was  quiet.  And  presently  her  voice 
seemed  to  come  to  him  from  a  distance,  faint  and  sweet 
and  mellow.  "I  never  thought  that  this  would  happen  to 
me,  Jim;  I  never  thought  it  would  happen  to  me." 

So  she  denied  her  own  superiority;  so  she  admitted 
that  when  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  things,  she  stood 
on  the  threshold  with  him.  Jim  closed  his  eyes.  Again 
that  golden  voice  came  to  his  ears. 

"I  went  on  so  long,  you  see,  playing  at  love.  Such 
years  and  years,  without  finding  the  real  thing.  I  didn't 


136  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

believe  there  was  such  a  thing;  and  if  there  was,  I  didn't 
half  want  to  find  it.  I  was  so  sure  of  myself,  Jim." 

"Aren't  you — sure  of  yourself  now?"  It  was  Jim's 
own  voice  which  asked  the  question. 

"I  shall  never  be — sure  of  myself  again,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

They  did  not  speak  again  until  they  rose  from  the 
settle.  Then  Zoe,  looking  up  at  the  big  painting  of  her 
father — Jim  did  not  follow  her  gaze,  he  was  watching 
the  adorable  long  lines  of  her  throat — said  softly,  "If 
the  Helga  should  actually  founder,  or  if  we  should  un- 
accountably starve,  I  think  I  shall  cut  Daddy's  picture 
out  of  the  frame,  and  have  it  with  me  at  the  last." 

"I  think  you  will  not,"  said  Jim  calmly.  "You  will 
have  me  with  you;  one  man  is  enough." 

"Of  course,"  said  Zoe  carelessly,  "it  won't  ever  come 
to  an  extremity." 

"Of  course  not,"  Jim  answered.  "But  when  it  does, 
Zoe,  remember  what  I  am  telling  you." 


CHAPTER  XI 

"THERE  COMES  AN  END  TO  SUMMER" 

WITH  an  eagerness  that  surprised  himself,  and  was 
certainly  half  dread,  Jim  went  the  next  day  to 
sit  with  Masterson.  It  seemed  impossible  that  the  sick 
man,  having  made  his  one  revelation,  should  not  make 
another.  Exactly  what  he  had  revealed  Jim  couldn't 
have  said — or  perhaps  didn't  want  to  think.  But  there 
was  undeniably  some  interest  in  the  prospect  that  Mas- 
terson might  talk;  and  if  he  did,  Jim  knew  that  he  him- 
self would  listen. 

But  Masterson  lay  with  closed  eyes,  apparently  asleep, 
although  Jim  knew  that  he  was  not  asleep.  Once  he 
asked  for  a  drink ;  and  as  Jim  gave  it  to  him  their  eyes 
met  briefly. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Masterson,  almost  as  if  he  alluded 
to  more  than  the  water. 

"You  are  welcome,"  said  Jim. 

Their  dialogue  was  over  for  the  day. 

Jim  went  to  sit  with  the  sick  man  the  next  day,  and 
again  the  next.  His  doing  so  compelled  him  to  leave 
Zoe  alone  for  some  part  of  every  afternoon,  but  Zoe 
bade  him  go.  The  hour's  absence  made  coming  to- 
gether doubly  sweet;  incidentally,  perhaps,  she  showed 
that  she  didn't  care  what  he  might  hear  from  a  third 
person.  But  in  her  comment  she  went  no  farther  than 
to  say,  "You  and  Masterson  are  getting  to  be  great 
pals." 

137 


138  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Hardly  that,"  responded  Jim. 

They  weren't  pals  at  all,  in  fact ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
Jim  that  they  ought  to  be.  They  had  discussed  Zoe 
Lenox;  and  their  discussion  was  either  a  bond  or  an 
indiscretion.  It  should  have  made  them  either  friends 
or  enemies,  instead  of  leaving  them  just  as  it  found 
them.  Possibly  though  Masterson  didn't  even  recall 
ever  having  taken  part  in  such  a  conversation:  that  ex- 
planation Jim  liked  the  least  of  the  three. 

A  second  staring  moment  of  revelation  finally  came, 
after  Jim  had  given  up  expecting  anything  of  the  sort. 
Masterson  caught  his  eye  one  day,  and  remarked  casu- 
ally, "We're  going  down  some  day,  you  know." 

"Eh?"    Jim  was  startled. 

"We're  going  to  drown,  if  we  don't  starve  first.  There 
is  not,"  said  Masterson,  "a  chance  in  a  thousand  of  our 
being  rescued." 

"Are  you  mathematically  exact?"  asked  Jim. 
"Mayn't  there  even  be  a  chance  in  a  hundred  ?  So  long 
as  there  is  even  that,  I  shall  cling  to  it,  you  know." 

"You  needn't.  And  you're  a  fool  if  you  do.  Pray  to 
die  with  her  in  your  arms;  that's  the  best  thing  that  can 
happen  to  you." 

This  was  little  enough,  in  all  conscience ;  but  that  same 
evening  Masterson  managed  to  find  a  bottle,  and  got 
very  drunk;  and  Jim  shivered  under  Zoe's  caresses. 

His  shivering  seemed  to  date  from  that  time;  for  all 
at  once  his  lulled  senses  awakened,  his  raw  nerves 
quivered  to  the  horrors  about  him.  The  days  of  actual 
grinding  misery  were  upon  them  now.  Food  had  in 
serious  earnest  begun  to  give  out;  worse  than  lack  of 
food,  even  for  the  sorriest  soul  on  board,  was  the  mad- 
dening monotony  of  waiting  for  their  fate.  Masterson 
lay  in  his  berth,  a  grim  hulk  of  a  man ;  the  captain  slunk 


"THERE  COMES  AN  END- TO  SUMMER"     139 

mournfully  about,  and  made  silly  needless  allusions  to 
his  daughters  back  in  the  States.  The  crew  played  cards, 
and  slept,  and  quarrelled  suddenly  and  fiercely  about 
nothing.  The  steward,  sunk  to  a  grey  pallor,  let  dust 
gather  in  the  tea-cups;  the  maid  Anna,  glimpsed  now 
and  then,  shivered  and  chattered  as  if  in  an  ague.  Only 
Zoe  preserved  her  calm. 

It  was  more  than  calm,  indeed,  that  she  preserved; 
it  was  always  with  joy  that  she  turned  to  Jim.  But  Jim 
had  reached  the  point  where  he  couldn't  meet  her  with 
a  reciprocal  joy.  The  situation  had  at  last  settled  down 
on  him.  Insufficient  food,  steady  damp  and  cold,  the 
emotional  strain  he  had  so  long  been  under,  all  united 
with  the  essential  horror  of  his  surroundings  to  produce 
in  him  a  sick  disgust. 

In  that  disgust  he  made  his  connection  with  what  lay 
before  him :  he  realised  at  last  that  he  was  going  to  die. 
To  die,  here  on  a  stranded  ship  in  the  grey  Antarctic ;  to 
float,  perhaps  for  years  thereafter,  in  a  ship  full  of 
corpses;  to  be  himself  an  unburied  corpse,  loathsome, 
pestilential.  To  die,  he,  Jim  Whittaker,  who  should 
have  had  half  his  life  before  him,  who  had  been  born 
and  trained  and  ministered  to  there  in  the  kindly  North 
in  order  that  he  might  live.  Not  death  in  the  abstract 
faced  him;  he  was  confronted  with  the  immediacy  of 
Jim  Whittaker's  death.  The  idea  made  sick  his  civi- 
lised soul;  it  poisoned  the  little  of  life  that  remained  to 
him. 

It  didn't  poison  Zoe's  days  or  nights ;  it  stimulated  her, 
rather,  to  get  the  most  out  of  them.  Was  it  that  a 
powerful  stimulus  was  necessary  to  awaken  her,  and  was 
here  hideously  but  effectively  supplied?  Or  was  it  that 
she  was  woman  enough  to  wrap  herself  in  her  illusions, 
and  dare  biting  reality  to  do  its  worst?  Whatever  the 


140  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

reason,  the  fact  remained.  Zoe,  who  had  hung  back  so 
coldly  when  all  of  life  was  offered  her,  accepted  these 
few  parched  pinched  days  as  a  priceless  gift,  and  sang 
her  way  through  them.  "To  die,"  was  Jim's  burden ;  "to 
die  with  you,"  Zoe's  carol. 

Jim  might  have  felt  rebuked,  like  a  coward  in  the 
presence  of  courage;  but  he  didn't.  She  exasperated 
him.  After  all,  he  was  a  man,  and  wanted  to  live  like 
one.  He  was  a  man  in  love,  and  he  wanted  to  possess 
his  love  in  life:  to  take  her  hand  in  his,  and  step  boldly 
forth,  and  conquer.  In  the  present  situation  he  could 
keep  from  crying  out ;  but  he  couldn't  keep  from  resent- 
ing the  idea  of  early  and  grim  death.  Zoe,  he  could  not 
help  feeling,  would  rather  die  with  him  than  live  with 
him. 

Yet  she  was  magnificent  in  these  days.  Grimly  he 
found  himself  admitting  that  she  fairly  bore  the  situa- 
tion for  both  of  them.  She  was  graceful,  indomitable, 
gay.  Her  superb  body  was  his  for  his  consolation — or 
for  his  diversion.  For  him  her  mind  opened  during 
these  days  like  a  golden  flower  with  thrice-pure  gold  at 
the  heart  of  it.  To  beguile  the  moments  he  gave  so 
grudgingly,  she  had  ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the 
climes.  The  tropics  had  yielded  their  nature  and  Eu- 
rope its  art,  Dan  Lenox  had  loved  and  lost,  and  Grand 
Dukes  had  pursued  and  been  baffled,  in  order  that  Zoe 
might  offer  Jim  Whittaker  the  distraction  he  accepted 
so  sulkily. 

It  wasn't  that  Zoe  didn't  suffer  physically  from  the 
hardships  that  were  now  coming  thick  upon  them.  She 
would  allow  herself  to  fare  no  better  than  the  rest  of 
them;  and  privation  and  strain  were  working  their  will 
with  her.  Her  cheeks  had  flattened,  her  long  hands  were 
meagre  and  transparent;  her  clothes  hung  loosely  about 


"THERE  COMES  AN  END  TO  SUMMER"     141 

her.  The  fine  pure  lines  of  her  face  were  clearer  than 
ever,  though,  and  what  she  had  lost  in  superbness  she 
had  more  than  made  up  in  the  translucence  which  let 
escape  the  inner,  light. 

One  especially  dreary  afternoon  the  two  of  them  had 
gone  into  her  stateroom.  The  early  splendours  of  the 
room  were  a  little  tarnished,  its  white  curtains  not  so 
white,  its  chintz  curtains  not  so  gay;  but  for  Jim  the 
room  had  never  lost  its  special  sanctity.  He  always 
breathed  quicker  on  its  threshold.  Perhaps  Zoe  had  that 
in  mind  when  she  drew  him  thither ;  for  in  these  days  he 
taxed  her  every  resource. 

Wrapped  in  her  fur  coat,  which  like  the  room  had 
suffered  a  little  lately,  Zoe  established  herself  in  her 
chaise  longue.  Jim  sat  beside  her,  where  he  could  touch 
her  hand  without  moving.  With  her  head  turned  to- 
ward him,  and  resting  against  the  chair-back,  she  talked 
for  a  long  time,  gaily  enough.  At  first  she  talked  about 
the  two  of  them ;  and  before  that  topic  threatened  break- 
ers, she  shifted  easily  to  painting,  and  collections  of  pic- 
tures. If  she  had  been  an  artist  at  all  it  was  a  painter 
she  would  have  chosen  to  be.  If  one  could  choose  among 
them,  painting  was  the  most  interesting  of  the  arts — 
didn't  Jim  think  so?  It  sprouted  so  immediately  from 
the  tips  of  the  fingers — perhaps  that  was  why.  Zoe 
held  up  her  own  hand,  as  if  she  expected  actually  to  see 
sprouts  coming;  she  smiled  at  her  own  childishness,  and 
dropped  it. 

You  couldn't  learn  anything  about  an  art,  she  went 
on,  simply  by  looking  at  it,  even  if  you  looked  ever  so 
long.  Whistler  was  right  about  that,  of  course,  and 
Ruskin  was  wrong.  Only  Zoe  believed  that  there  were 
occasional  people  who  simply  by  some  force  that  was  in 


142  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

them  mounted  to  the  comprehension  of  an  art  they 
couldn't  practise.  Her  Daddy  was  such  a  person,  and 
she  had  known  one  or  two  others  who  were  so  in  lessej 
degree.  But  they  didn't  learn  about  art  by  looking  at 
it  or  by  living  with  it.  They  just  knew;  they  were 
born  so. 

Jim  listened  to  her  with  outward  attentiveness  and 
inward  apathy.  He  couldn't  deny  her  magnificence; 
but  he  felt  oddly  annoyed  that  it  should  be  displayed 
toward  him.  Why  must  she  be  gay  for  him  ?  He  wasn't 
gay.  And  what  were  Whistler  and  Ruskin  to  him ;  and 
what  above  all  was  Dan  Lenox — Dan  Lenox,  who  always 
came  into  his  daughter's  conversation  to  clinch  things? 

She  wasn't  assuming  anything,  though;  or  if  she  were, 
her  assumptions  were  so  one  with  her  that  she  was  still 
perfectly  natural.  For  when  she  tired  of  her  own 
gaiety,  she  dropped  it,  and  went  off  into  a  long  silence. 
And  then  presently  she  grew  sleepy.  She  did  fight  off 
sleep,  but  it  gained  upon  her;  and  finally  with  a  little 
apologetic  smile  she  succumbed,  and  her  eyes  closed. 
Just  as  she  was,  with  her  head  resting  against  her  chair- 
back,  she  slept. 

Jim  sat  watching  her  as  she  slept ;  and  his  antagonism 
melted.  In  her  sleep  there  was  always  to  his  eye  some- 
thing pathetic  about  her:  the  natural  woman  in  the 
ascendant,  helpless  and  off  her  guard.  He  stooped  and 
kissed  the  hand  that  lay  near  him.  Through  her  sleep 
Zoe  seemed  to  feel  his  kiss:  she  stirred  a  little,  and 
smiled. 

As  darkness  gathered  they  sat  so;  and  gradually  a 
curious  happiness  came  over  Jim.  She  was  so  perfectly 
his,  here  in  the  quiet  and  the  dusk;  and  to  have  her  his 
like  this  was  better  than  to  have  the  tribute  of  her  mag- 
nificence, was  better  even  than  to  have  her  his  before  the 


"THERE  COMES  AN  END  TO  SUMMER"     143 

world.  Jim  possessed  himself  of  her  hand;  then  he  sat 
very  still,  so  that  he  might  not  disturb  her. 

He  must  himself  have  dozed  as  he  sat  there.  He  was 
awakened  by  having  her  hand  withdrawn  from  his;  she 
had  started  to  her  feet,  and  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  "What's  that?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 
"What's  that?" 

Jim  couldn't  tell  her  what  it  was,  but  his  ear  detected 
it,  too.  There  seemed  to  be  noise,  confusion,  a  bustle 
such  as  had  not  for  a  long  time  resounded  in  that  death- 
like ship.  Then  there  was  an  actual,  unmistakable  knock 
at  the  state-room  door.  Zoe  answered  it. 

Through  the  opening  of  the  door  came  the  voice  of 
the  pale  steward,  curiously  vibrant.  "Captain  asked  me  to 
tell  you,  Miss  Lenox,  that  a  ship  has  been  sighted,  and 
is  putting  off  a  boat  to  us." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Zoe.  "Tell  the  captain  I  am  com- 
ing on  deck  at  once." 

She  closed  the  door  quickly,  and  reeled  against  it,  half 
fainting.  Jim  ran  forward  to  catch  her;  and  for  a  min- 
ute she  leaned  heavily  on  him.  Then  she  seemed  to  re- 
cover: her  breath  came  regularly  once  more,  and  her 
limbs  regained  their  strength. 

But  Jim  didn't  let  her  go.  Renewed  life  had  just 
been  proclaimed  to  him;  and  he  seized  it  as  new  life  to 
live  with  Zoe.  If  they  stood  so  for  a  moment,  in  that 
moment  they  dedicated  the  new  life.  Zoe  must  feel 
that  as  readily  as  he. 

It  was  dim  enough  in  the  cabin,  but  Jim  could  see 
her.  At  first,  to  be  sure,  he  didn't  look  at  her;  but  he 
held  her  to  him,  so  that  her  heart  seemed  almost  to  beat 
in  his  own  side.  Then  he  did  look  around,  and  with  a 
long  breath  released  her.  For  Zoe  was  looking  at  him 


144  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

in  white  horror,  as  if  it  were  a  stranger  who  had  thus 
impiously  strained  her  to  him. 

Jim  pressed  his  hands  for  a  moment  over  his  eyes. 
Of  course,  he  had  been  a  fool  to  urge  himself  upon  her 
just  at  this  moment,  when  her  nerves  were  still  quivering 
with  the  shock  of  surprise.  He  waited  until  he  could 
speak  quite  calmly  to  her;  then  he  asked,  "Shan't  we  go 
on  deck?" 

She  had  slipped  out  of  her  coat  when  she  answered 
the  door.  He  found  the  coat  on  her  chair,  and  enveloped 
her  in  it;  he  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  followed  her 
on  deck. 

The  captain  and  crew  were  grouped  near  the  rail, 
watching  the  approach  of  the  boat  that  was  bringing  them 
their  deliverance.  Masterson  had  somehow  hobbled  out 
to  them;  and  directly  under  the  light  was  Zoe's  maid, 
with  tears  drying  white  upon  her  gnome-like  visage.  A 
little  group  rescued  from  the  shadow  of  imminent  death, 
huddling  there  to  watch  life  come  toward  them :  it  was, 
Jim  knew,  a  group  pathetic,  eloquent,  symbolic.  But  he 
didn't  feel  its  symbolism  just  yet ;  he  was  watching  Zoe. 

The  group  parted  to  let  her  in;  she  took  her  place 
beside  the  captain.  She  seemed  to  ask  him  two  or  three 
questions;  at  the  last  answer  she  nodded.  Then  she 
stood  perfectly  quiet  while  he  interchanged  words  with 
the  boat  which  had  now  pulled  alongside.  Suddenly  she 
herself  leaned  forward  and  called  over  the  rail.  "That 
will  do  very  well,"  she  said.  "My  maid  and  I  will  come 
aboard,  and  you  may  take  the  Helga  in  tow." 

She  started  back  toward  her  stateroom;  on  the  way 
Jim  intercepted  her.  "Am  I  to  stay  on  board  the 
Helga?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  answered  hastily.  "There  will 
be  things  sent  over  to  make  you  comfortable." 


"THERE  COMES  AN  END  TO  SUMMER"     145 

"I  like  the  Helga  well  enough;  but  how  do  you  sup- 
pose I  am  going  to  be  comfortable  with  a  towing  rope 
and  some  yards, of  ocean  between  you  and  me?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

"I'm  worn  out.  I'm  going  aboard  the  Polyphemia, 
and  going  to  bed,"  she  informed  him.  She  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  his  neck-tie.  "I  shall  see  you  again  later, 
Jim." 

What  she  said  was  reasonable  enough;  and  Jim  made 
up  his  mind  that  it  was  no  time  to  be  impatient  just 
when  their  lease  of  life  had  been  renewed.  "You'll 
bid  me  good-night  before  you  go?"  he  asked. 

"Good-night  now,"  she  said.  Her  hand  was  laid  for 
a  moment  in  his,  and  then  withdrawn;  it  was  ice-cold, 
and  gave  to  his  fingers  no  answering  pressure.  The  door 
of  her  stateroom,  which  half  an  hour  before  had  been 
Jim's  sanctuary  as  well,  closed  ruthlessly  in  his  face. 

Jim  lingered  on  deck,  waiting  to  see  her  actually  start. 
He  enjoined  patience  upon  himself,  and  consideration; 
he  even  took  to  scolding  himself  sharply,  to  conceal  from 
himself  the  fact  that  he  was  damnably  low  in  his  mind. 
A  man  who  had  just  been  rescued  from  imminent  peril 
of  death  ought  not  in  mere  decency  to  feel  as  Jim  was 
feeling.  And  as  for  Zoe's  conduct,  Zoe  herself  un- 
doubtedly knew  best  how  to  regulate  that.  The  eyes  of 
the  outside  world  were  again  upon  them :  any  woman 
not  a  fool  would  show  some  deference  to  that  fact. 

But  of  course  so  lately  the  eyes  of  the  world  had  not 
been  upon  them.  He  had  had  her  all  to  himself;  natu- 
rally he  resented  not  having  her  so  now.  Yes,  and  when 
he  had  had  her  all  to  himself,  how  had  he  appreciated 
her  and  her  splendour?  Hadn't  he  been  impatient  and 
unhappy  all  the  time  lately,  worrying  about  himself  and 
his  bereaved  appetite  and  his  precious  neck  instead  of 


146  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

resting  in  his  love  for  her?  He  had  an  impulse  to  abase 
himself  and  beg  her  pardon,  to  throw  himself  on  his 
knees  before  her  stateroom  door,  and  let  her  walk  on 
him  when  she  crossed  the  threshold — yes,  and  then  to 
get  up  and  follow  her  on  board  the  Polyphemia. 

After  the  lapse  of  some  aeons  Zoe  came  on  deck,  fol- 
lowed by  her  maid  with  two  valises.  She  herself  carried 
a  dressing-case,  and  wore  a  little  close  hat  which  hid 
most  of  her  hair.  He  had  not  seen  her  in  a  hat  for  a 
long  time ;  so  framed,  her  face  looked  strange  and  alien. 
Jim  stepped  toward  her  and  took  her  dressing-case; 
across  their  hands  their  eyes  met.  Her  gaze,  too,  was 
alien.  She  kept  up  a  splendid  front;  Jim  couldn't  help 
admiring  it.  Only  just  now,  when  the  eye  of  the  world 
blinked  a  bit,  she  might  for  a  second  have  let  him  see — 
not  that  this  splendid  front  wasn't  the  real  thing,  he 
knew  that  it  wasn't  the  real  thing — but  that  she  herself 
knew  it  wasn't.  Doubtless,  though,  she  was  wiser  not 
to.  Jim  felt  that  he  was  on  the  brink  of  some  sort  of 
demonstration;  at  a  sign  from  her,  he  might  have  been 
guilty  of  any  pointless  folly. 

As  it  was,  he  saw  the  armoured  young  woman  aboard 
the  Polyphemia's  boat,  and  was  guilty  of  nothing  worse 
than  waving  his  hand  to  her  as  it  put  off.  She  inclined 
her  head  gravely  in  reply ;  and  under  his  breath  he  cursed 
her  furious  propriety.  It  was  of  very  recent  birth:  as 
Jim  turned  away  from  the  rail  he  was  guilty  of  hugging 
to  himself  the  memory  of  her  late  passionate  excesses — 
things,  by  George,  that  he  hadn't  been  able  to  come  up  to. 

And  then  suddenly  he  realised  that  she  was  no  longer 
here.  He  was  here,  and  Zoe  had  gone.  The  Helga  was 
no  better  than  an  empty  ship.  If  he  could  but  have  got 
her  back,  he  would  have  been  grateful  just  then  even 
for  her  propriety. 


CHAPTER  XII 
IN   TOW 

T  T  NABLE  to  face  the  prospect  of  that  first  evening 
^  alone,  Jim  had  gone  after  dinner  to  sit  with  Mas- 
terson.  Masterson  was  perfectly  sober;  but  for  once  in 
his  life  he  was  talkative.  He  had  gathered  a  good  deal 
of  information  in  a  very  short  time,  and  he  made  Jim 
the  recipient  of  it. 

"The  Polyphemia  was  hardly  out  of  her  course,"  he 
said  as  they  sat  smoking.  "The  fact  is,  we  have  been 
drifting  toward  the  ordinary  path  of  navigation  all  the 
time  lately;  but  I  don't  think  the  captain  has  known  it." 

"He  has  been  in  rather  a  funk,  I  suppose,"  said  Jim, 
"but  I  thought  a  sailor " 

"He  isn't  a  sailor  anyhow,"  said  Masterson  remorse- 
lessly. "I'll  grant  he  looks  like  one,  and  he  can  talk 
like  one.  There's  an  agreeable  smack  of  the  old  salt 
in  his  conversation  that  fits  him  for  just  such  a  place  as 
the  captaincy  of  a  rich  man's  yacht.  It's  on  his  conver- 
sation and  his  looks  that  he  is  hired.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I'm  surprised  that  Miss  Lenox  has  put  up  with 
him  as  long  as  she  has.  She  isn't  an  ordinary  million- 
aire; she  ought  to  know  better." 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Jim,  slowly  refilling  his  pipe, 
"Miss  Lenox  has  rather  relied  on  your  seamanship,  all 
along." 

Masterson  flushed,  and  threw  Jim  a  searching  look. 
Jim  reached  for  a  match.  "Masterson,"  he  said,  "why 

147 


148  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

don't  you  pull  up?  A  drunken  sailor  on  land  is  no- 
body's business;  but  a  drunken  sailor  on  shipboard  is 
bound  straight  for  hell." 

"Wait  until  you're  in  the  same  boat  that  I  am;  then 
perhaps  you  can  preach,"  said  Masterson  sulkily. 

"When  I  am  in  the  same  boat  that  you  are,  perhaps  I 
shall  do  very  much  worse  than  you  are  doing,"  said 
Jim  steadily.  "That  isn't  the  point.  The  point  is  that 
you  can  do  a  great  deal  better." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  Turn  parson?"  sug- 
gested Masterson. 

"No,"  said  Jim.  "Don't  leave  the  sea.  It's  your 
proper  livelihood,  and  I  suspect  that  all  in  all  it's  the 
best  life  for  you.  But  leave  the  Helga." 

"Oh,  that's  the  answer,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  answer.  The  Helga  isn't  a  healthy 
place  for  you." 

"Has  it  been  for  you?"  Masterson  let  fly  at  him,  and 
then  added  hastily,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Whittaker ; 
I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  What  you  said  to  me — made 
me  writhe." 

"Go  ahead;  writhe  all  you  like,"  said  Jim  quietly.  "I 
don't  in  the  least  mind  what  you  may  happen  to  say  as 
you  writhe.  You  would  better  take  my  advice;  but  I 
don't  expect  you  to  be  grateful  for  it.  It  isn't  necessary, 
or  usual,  to  be  grateful  for  anything  so  bitter." 

Masterson  flung  his  arm  up  over  his  eyes.  "To  ship 
in  some  freight  boat,  and  work  hard  and  long,  and  be 
a  man  once  more — I  should  like  that,"  he  said  dream- 
ily, as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself.  "But  never  to  see 

— the  Helga — again "  His  mouth  contracted  in  a 

swift  spasm  of  pain. 

"You  will  leave  the  Helga,  though.  You  can,  you 
will,"  asserted  Jim. 


IN  TOW  149 

"You  will  help  me  if  I  do?"  asked  Masterson,  sitting 
up  suddenly. 

"Of  course,  if  I  can  do  anything,"  said  Jim  simply. 

Masterson  smiled  at  him,  smiled  as  if  he  liked  him. 
That  was  notable,  for  one  didn't  expect  Masterson  to 
like  anybody.  But  was  there  not  in  the  smile  a  subtle 
hint  of  irony?  Well,  what  if  there  were?  Jim  felt  no 
inclination  to  resent  irony;  and  he  knew  well  enough 
that  he  was  in  no  position  to  do  so  had  he  felt  the  in- 
clination. 

The  talk  turned  to  indifferent  matters,  and  the  two 
men  sat  long  together.  When  they  separated  Jim  went 
to  lean  on  the  rail  and  watch  the  Polyphemia  steaming 
on  ahead.  Her  indistinct  bulk  loomed  up  with  a  cer- 
tain majesty.  It  pleased  him  to  attribute  the  majesty, 
not  to  favouring  darkness,  but  to  the  ship's  conscious- 
ness of  what  she  carried;  for  doubtless  under  ordinary 
circumstances  the  Polyphemia  beside  the  Helga  would 
have  looked  as  the  Polyphemia's  captain's  wife,  if  he 
had  a  wife,  might  have  looked  beside  Zoe  Lenox. 

Next  morning  the  Polyphemia  stood  forth  indeed  in 
daylight  as  dumpy  and  inelegant,  built  for  strength  and 
utility  rather  than  for  speed  and  show.  She  was  no 
swallow,  to  skim  the  waves  as  had  the  Helga;  and  her 
tow  made  her  slower  than  usual.  To  men  who  had  been 
drifting  as  long  as  had  the  crew  of  the  Helga,  however, 
her  sturdy  progress  may  have  seemed  swift  enough. 

But  to  Jim  Whittaker  it  seemed  that  she  endlessly 
crawled.  He  might  have  derived  an  impatient  pleasure 
from  looking  ahead  to  the  end  of  this  voyage;  but  for 
some  reason  he  couldn't  look  ahead.  He  looked  back 
instead  at  those  days  that  he  and  Zoe  had  spent  together 
under  the  fear  of  death — their  quite  ridiculous  fear,  ac- 
cording to  what  Masterson  now  told  Jim.  Jim  envied 


150  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

himself  under  the  shadow  of  his  fear,  ridiculous  or  well- 
founded,  it  didn't  matter.  He  had  fallen,  to  be  sure, 
far  below  the  level  of  a  cloud-compeller  then ;  but  it  was 
now  that  he  was  actually  desolate.  He  told  himself 
that  this  curious  desolation  was  merely  the  aching  of 
his  senses  for  the  stimulus  now  denied  them;  but  he 
did  not  for  one  second  believe  his  own  explanation. 
He  felt  as  if  something  had  been  permanently  withdrawn 
from  his  life;  and  that  something  was  what  he  could 
the  least  in  the  world  afford  to  lose. 

He  would  have  been  immensely  consoled,  to  be  sure, 
by  a  mere  glimpse  of  Zoe.  A  hundred  times  a  day  he 
found  himself  at  the  rail,  watching  the  Polyphemia, 
waiting  for  Zoe  to  appear  and  wave  her  hand  to  him. 
But  she  never  did  appear;  he  had  never  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  her.  And  after  standing  there  until  he  could 
not  make  excuses  to  himself  for  waiting  any  longer, 
he  would  turn  away,  and  go  back  to  his  pretence  of  oc- 
cupation somewhere  else. 

The  fact  that  he  never  saw  her  at  all  grew  presently 
to  have  rather  an  immediate  significance.  Jim  recalled 
her  increasing  thinness  in  their  last  days  together,  her 
lack  of  appetite,  her  loss  of  sleep.  He  decided  that  she 
was  sick.  She  must  be  sick.  He  couldn't  imagine  Zoe 
sick ;  the  splendour  of  her  physique  would  seem  to  guar- 
antee her  even  against  mortality.  But  of  course  she  was 
mortal ;  and  of  course  she  might  be  sick ;  and  surely  that 
supposition  accounted  better  than  anything  else  for  her 
having  so  cut  herself  off  from  his  sight. 

Jim  fumed  endlessly  about  the  deck,  now  once  more 
kept  clean;  he  glowered  savagely  at  the  pale  steward, 
who  served  his  solitary  meals  in  the  blue  cabin.  Event- 
ually he  took  to  eating  with  the  captain  and  the  mate. 
Masterson  was  now  able  to  limp  about  the  ship,  with 


IN  TOW  151 

the  help  of  a  cane.  He  was  as  taciturn  as  he  had  ever 
been;  he  seemed  to  grudge  opening  his  mouth  even  to 
put  food  in  it.  They  would  have  made  a  gloomy  trio 
had  it  not  been  for  the  captain,  who  had  recovered  his 
tone  of  the  cheery  old  salt,  and  looked  forward  gar- 
rulously to  seeing  his  daughters  in  the  States. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  the  steward  went  to  the 
Polyphemia  for  provisions.  On  his  return  Jim  asked 
casually  whether  he  had  seen  Miss  Lenox.  The  steward 
answered  that  he  had  not ;  he  added  that  they  told  him 
on  the  Polyphemia  that  she  had  been  keeping  her  berth. 
The  steward's  manner  was  on  the  surface  as  respectful 
as  ever;  but  in  his  eye  there  was  the  ghost  of  a  pale 
smirk.  Jim  would  have  liked  to  hit  him;  afterward  he 
wondered  if  it  mightn't  have  been  better  for  all  con- 
cerned if  he  actually  had  hit  him. 

His  idea  that  Zoe  might  be  sick,  thus  strongly  con- 
firmed, began  to  torture  him.  She  was  sick,  and  alone, 
except  for  that  black  beast — he  thus  described  the  faith- 
ful Anna.  Jim  himself  ought  to  be  with  her;  or  at  least 
he  ought  to  see  her.  It  was  no  more  than  decent  for 
him  to  try  to  see  her;  and  if  she  didn't  want  to  see  him, 
let  the  refusal  come  from  her. 

There  were  practical  difficulties  in  his  way.  He 
didn't  quite  know  how  he  was  to  reach  the  Polyphemia ; 
he  didn't  particularly  care  to  emphasise,  in  the  minds  of 
those  on  board  the  Polyphemia,  that  the  Helga  carried 
a  man  passenger.  But  he  knew  from  the  day  of  the 
steward's  visit  that  he  should  try  to  see  Zoe ;  it  was  only 
a  question  of  waiting  until  his  inward  irritation  increased 
to  such  a  point  that  it  forced  him  to  action. 

What  it  forced  him  to  first  of  all  was  laying  his 
dilemma  before  Masterson.  He  didn't  like  to  show  his 
abject  state  where  he  had  just  been  preaching  self-con- 


152  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

trol;  but  he  had  got  to  the  point  where  scruples  simply 
didn't  weigh. 

Masterson  took  his  revelation  without  comment,  con- 
sidered for  a  moment,  and  then  brought  out,  "You 
could  wear  one  of  my  uniforms,  couldn't  you?  We  are 
about  the  same  size." 

Jim  stared  at  him.  Masterson  went  on,  "You  might, 
you  know,  go  aboard  the  Polyphemia  as  the  Helga's 
mate.  You  could  ask  to  see  Miss  Lenox  on  business." 

It  sounded  very  fantastic;  the  fantasy  in  this  small 
scheme  bulked  larger  just  then  for  Jim  than  the  strange- 
ness of  the  whole  situation.  But  Masterson  went  on  in 
his  cool  way,  "I'll  take  you  in  the  launch  some  evening, 
if  my  leg  will  let  me;  and  no  one  on  the  Polyphemia  will 
ever  be  any  the  wiser." 

After  all,  there  was  nothing  against  the  plan  except 
Jim's  exquisitely  respectable  sense  of  contrasts.  In  its 
wild  way  the  scheme  seemed  practicable  enough;  and 
Jim  finally  gave  it  his  hearty  assent.  It  was  generous 
of  Masterson,  he  felt,  thus  to  help  him  to  Zoe. 

They  accomplished  their  transition  the  very  next 
night ;  for  now  that  Jim  had  decided  the  thing  could  be 
done,  he  was  consumed  with  impatience.  In  Master- 
son's  cabin  he  donned  a  uniform  of  the  mate's,  and  found 
it  a  little  tight  for  him,  although  the  mate  was  a  large 
muscular  man.  In  consideration  of  his  own  sinews, 
Jim  did  not  see  how  he  could  fail  to  succeed  in  his  en- 
terprise. He  would  batter  down  the  walls  of  Jericho 
to  get  to  Zoe,  let  alone  a  cabin  door  or  two. 

They  signalled  the  Polyphemia  to  slow  down,  and  put 
off  to  her.  In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  Master- 
son  was  left  in  the  launch  alongside,  and  Jim  stood  on 
the  Polyphemia's  deck,  with  his  simple  plausible  excuse 
upon  his  lips. 


IN  TOW  153 

The  maid  Anna  came  out  to  him ;  and  of  course  with 
her  it  was  impossible  to  maintain  his  alias.  Jim  sig- 
nalled silence  to  her,  and  scribbled  a  note  for  her  to  take 
to  her  mistress.  "Dearest,"  he  wrote,  "I  have  come  over 
to  see  you.  I  miss  you,  and  I  am  worried  about  you. 
Let  me  have  five  minutes.  You  will,  if  you  realise  what 
it  means  to  me."  This  creditably  moderate  production 
he  signed  with  his  initials. 

The  reply  came  at  once ;  he  read  it  by  a  dim  light  near 
the  door  of  her  cabin.  "Not  to-night,  Jim.  There  is 
no  need  to  worry ;  I  am  not  sick.  But  I  must  rest ;  please 
go  away  and  leave  me.  And  don't  come  on  board  the 
Polyphemia  again.  I  will  see  you  in  Rio."  Her  note 
was  unsigned. 

Jim  stuffed  it  in  his  pocket,  and  stood  confronting 
the  dark  maid.  Did  Zoe  actually  believe  that  he  would 
go  away  at  her  mere  feeble  bidding?  She  disposed  of 
him  very  easily ;  but  Jim  wasn't  to  be  quite  so  easily  dis- 
posed of. 

"I  am  going  to  see  Miss  Lenox  for  a  minute,  if  you 
will  stand  out  of  the  way,"  he  said. 

The  Malay  must  have  known  what  was  in  the  note  in 
his  pocket.  She  shook  her  head,  and.  did  not  budge  from 
the  door;  it  seemed  to  Jim  that  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
hatred  of  him,  with  malign  pleasure  in  seeing  him  frus- 
trated. 

"Stand  out  of  the  way,  or  I  will  put  you  out,"  he  said 
shortly.  "You  don't  want  to  create  a  disturbance,  do 
you?" 

Still  the  creature  stood  at  her  post.  Jim  put  out  his 
arms,  took  her  around  the  waist,  and  set  her  neatly  out 
of  his  way.  As  he  released  her  he  felt  a  stinging  pain ; 
looking  down,  he  saw  that  she  had  fastened  her  teeth 
in  the  back  of  his  hand. 


154  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

The  pain,  and  the  sight  of  his  own  blood,  and  a  queer 
sense  of  humiliation,  combined  to  remove  Jim's  last 
scruple.  He  threw  the  door  open,  entered,  and  stood 
with  his  back  to  it;  he  heard  the  Malay  woman,  just 
too  late,  hurl  herself  against  it  from  without. 

In  the  dingy  little  cabin  that  some  one  had  vacated 
for  Zoe,  he  stood  wiping  the  blood  from  his  hand.  Zoe 
confronted  him ;  on  the  floor  between  them  lay  the  writ- 
ing materials  she  had  dropped  when  she  rose  at  his  en- 
trance. 

"I  must  say,  Zoe,  you  give  me  rather  a  warm  wel- 
come," said  Jim ;  to  his  own  ears  his  voice  sounded  heavy 
and  queer. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  rushing  in  on  me  like  this?" 
demanded  Zoe. 

"You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean,  and  have  meant 
all  along,"  he  said.  "I  think  there's  some  explanation 
coming  from  you,  though,  in  view  of  the  oddity  of  your 
behaviour." 

"You  think  explanations  are  due  you?"  she  repeated. 
She  turned  half  away  from  him,  as  if  the  very  sight  of 
him  were  too  much  for  her.  Over  her  shoulder  she 
uttered  some  words  that  he  didn't  catch,  and  didn't  need 
to  catch :  her  tone  was  enough. 

At  the  sight  and  sound  of  her  anger,  Jim's  own  mys- 
teriously cooled.  He  found  himself  wondering  how  on 
earth  he  and  his  exquisite  Zoe  came  to  be  standing  here 
in  this  dingy  little  cabin,  abusing  each  other  in  the  tone 
and  even  in  the  very  terms  of  a  world  with  which  they 
had  clearly  no  connection. 

"I  got  lonesome  for  you,  dear,"  he  said  in  his  own 
natural  tone.  "I  simply  wanted  to  see  you  for  a  min- 
ute, and  hear  from  your  own  lips  that  you  were  all 


IN  TOW  155 

right.  When  you  denied  me  as  little  as  that,  though,  I 
lost  my  temper'  I'm  sorry." 

"It  is  you  who  deny  me  a  little,"  she  said.  "A  little 
peace,  a  few  days'  rest,  a  chance  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  things — I'm  not  even  to  be  allowed  that,  it  seems." 

"I  admit  I'm  acting  like  a  brute,"  he  said.  "That's 
a — a  tribute  to  your  influence,  Zoe,  for  it  isn't  in  the 
least  like  me." 

"I  could  do  without  such  tributes,"  retorted  Zoe,  still 
not  looking  at  him. 

"Of  course  you  could;  but  I  didn't  think  you  would 
be  afraid  of  them,"  said  Jim  quickly. 

"Afraid?  Who  says  I  am  afraid?"  she  demanded; 
and  then,  before  he  could  have  replied  if  he  had  wanted 
to,  she  went  on,  "Well,  perhaps  I  am.  If  I  am  afraid, 
leave  me  to  get  over  it  by  myself,  Jim.  That's  the  natu- 
ral thing." 

"Thank  you;  you  just  then  called  me  by  my  name," 
he  said. 

She  called  him  by  it  again.  "Jim,"  she  said,  turning 
suddenly  full  on  him,  "Jim,  did  you  come  over  here 
under  cover  of  darkness  simply  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
me?  Because  it  sounds  very  much  as  if  you  did." 

"I  came  simply  to  find  out  your  intentions,"  said  Jim 
lamely. 

"My  intentions  are  to  rest  for  a  few  days,  and  make 
peace  with  myself,  and  to  see  you  in  Rio,"  she  answered. 

"And  you  adhere  to  your  intentions?" 

"I  think  I  do.    I  see  no  reason  to  change  them." 

"Very  well.  Rio  it  shall  be,"  said  Jim.  "I  am  glad 
to  see  that  you  are  as  well  as  you  are,  Zoe.  I  thought 
your  late  privations  might  have  laid  you  up." 

"Thank  you,  I  am  well  enough." 

"All  you  want,  as  you  have  just  remarked,  is  peace  ?" 


156  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"That  is  all." 

Jim  looked  down,  winding  his  handkerchief  carefully 
about  his  bitten  hand.  "Until  Rio,  then,"  he  said. 

"Until  Rio,"  she  repeated,  making  it  a  bargain. 

Masterson,  awaiting  him  in  the  launch,  had  eyes  for 
nothing  but  navigation,  and  no  tongue.  "Gad!  If  he's 
human  at  all,  he  would  like  to  know  how  successful  I've 
been,"  thought  Jim  grimly. 

And  yet,  he  told  himself  later  that  night,  he  was  no 
worse  off  than  he  had  been;  he  was  even  better,  as  his 
very  definite  anxiety  about  Zoe  had  been  relieved.  And 
he  would  see  her,  and  they  would  settle  their  difficulties, 
in  Rio;  and  of  course  there  was  only  one  way  that  their 
difficulties  could  ever  be  settled. 

The  next  day  Jim  ascertained  the  position  of  the 
Helga  at  sea,  and  the  distance  to  Rio.  The  Polyphemia 
was  to  make  several  earlier  stops,  it  appeared;  but  the 
Helga  could  be  best  repaired  at  Rio.  Probably  that 
had  had  something  to  do  with  Zoe's  decision.  It  was 
like  her,  to  make  the  settling  of  her  own  affairs  depend 
upon  the  repairing  of  the  Helga. 

But  perhaps — Jim  flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  idea — 
perhaps  she  wanted  the  Helga  put  in  order  for  a  very 
special  reason.  Perhaps  she  intended  nothing  less  than 
a  honeymoon  aboard  it.  Probably  in  a  calm,  discreet 
way  she  had  planned  a  whole  program  of  delights :  Rio, 
and  a  marriage  at  the  American  consul's,  and  a  voyage 
on  the  repaired  Helga,  and  then  home.  His  home,  or 
hers — his  homes  and  hers!  If  she  contemplated  that, 
or  anything  like  it,  she  had  a  right  to  ask  him  to  let  her 
have  a  breathing-space  now. 

It  was  a  long  time  to  wait ;  but  surely  that  for  which 
he  waited  was  worth  it.  The  idea  of  his  and  Zoe's 
living  their  lives  in  common  was  a  very  strange  idea;  if 


IN  TOW  157 

he  had  twice  the  time  he  had  now,  he  shouldn't  be  able 
to  get  accustomed  to  it.  Yet  it  was  gloriously  possible ; 
it  was  all  but  certain.  For  if  it  weren't  for  that,  what 
would  all  the  rest  mean? 

The  Polyphemia  made  her  various  stops;  with  each 
fresh  start  they  were  a  stage  nearer  Rio.  With  each 
stage  nearer  Rio  Jim  forgot  a  little  more  of  what  he 
would  have  liked  to  forget;  he  remembered  only  that  he 
was  going  to  Rio  to  keep  tryst,  and  that  from  his  tryst 
at  Rio  he  would  date  the  beginning  of  all  things. 

When  at  last  they  actually  entered  the  mouth  of  the 
long-desired  harbour,  Jim's  excitement  amounted  almost 
to  delirium.  It  came  oddly  to  his  mind  that  the  Helga 
had  halted  here  on  her  way  down  the  coast;  but  the  city 
had  meant  nothing  to  him  then  but  a  day's  sight-seeing. 
Everything  had  been  different  then;  or  rather,  nothing 
of  any  consequence  had  been  at  all. 

As  the  Helga  trailed  in  the  wake  of  the  stumpy  Poly- 
phemia up  the  most  magnificent  harbour  in  the  world, 
Jim  Whittaker  leaned  on  the  Helga's  rail.  He  wore  his 
hat  pulled  down  very  far  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was 
smoking  one  cigarette  after  another:  he  looked  very 
much  like  the  Jim  Whittaker  of  every  day.  But  he 
knew  himself  for  a  bridegroom,  come  here  to  celebrate 
his  splendid  nuptials;  and  he  knew  the  Polyphemia's 
sturdy  unemphatic  steaming  up  the  harbour  for  a  tri- 
umphal progress. 

He  awaited  his  lady's  instructions,  which  came  a  few 
moments  after  they  anchored.  The  note  was  without 
address  or  salutation.  It  told  him  to  take  all  his  things, 
and  go  to  a  certain  hotel  in  Rio.  ("Of  course,"  he 
thought,  "the  Helga  will  be  uninhabitable  for  some  time 
to  come — in  dry  dock  or  something.")  She  herself 


158  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

would  go  to  another  hotel,  and  would  see  him  the  next 
afternoon — he  could  expect  another  message.  The  note 
was  unsigned :  it  was  her  whim,  it  seemed,  to  have  a 
whiff  of  intrigue  about  the  whole  thing.  Delightful  girl, 
unaccountable  girl,  to  give  their  marriage  this  flavour 
of  conspiracy,  this  whimsical  suggestion  of  an  eight- 
eenth-century propriety,  this  final  delicate  tang  of  pro- 
priety evaded. 

Jim  put  the  letter  gallantly  next  his  heart,  and  went 
about  his  preparations  for  going  ashore.  His  farewell 
to  the  captain  was  singularly  brief;  he  had  never  been 
anything  but  an  audience  for  the  ancient  mariner,  and 
he  had  lately  felt  some  irritation  at  the  sight  of  that 
cheery  incompetent  visage,  and  the  thought  of  the  suf- 
fering to  which  that  incompetence  had  put  him  and  Zoe. 

With  Masterson,  on  the  other  hand,  Jim  had  a  talk, 
short  but  to  the  point.  In  spite  of  what  he  might  have 
seen  that  night  when  he  put  Jim  in  his  uniform  aboard 
the  Polyphemia,  Masterson  had  evidently  considered 
what  Jim  said  to  him  worthy  of  note;  or  perhaps  the 
mere  sight  of  the  way  this  woman  was  eating  into  Jim's 
life  sickened  the  other  man  with  what  she  had  done  to 
his  own.  At  any  rate,  Masterson  introduced  the  subject 
of  his  own  future,  and  informed  Jim  that  he  was  quit- 
ting the  Helga  at  the  end  of  the  present  cruise.  He  half- 
promised  to  look  Jim  up  later.  Jim  pressed  him  to  do  so ; 
said  heartily  as  he  wrung  the  mate's  hand,  "I  know  you 
won't  ever  regret  this,  Masterson." 

"No,"  said  Masterson,  "I  think  I  never  shall." 

That  sentence  was  oddly  enough  the  last  thing  Jim 
Whittaker  heard  on  board  the  Helga.  With  it  went  a 
look  that  was  paternal  and  a  little  pitying ;  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, that  look  was  odder  still.  For  why  should 
any  one,  least  of  all  poor  Masterson,  look  pityingly  at 


IN  TOW  159 

Jim  Whittaker  when  he  was  set  ashore  in  Rio  de  Janeiro 
to  meet  his  ineluctable  and  splendid  destiny? 

He  dined  late  and  luxuriously,  at  the  hotel  to  which 
Zoe  had  directed  him.  After  dinner  he  sat  for  a  long 
time  at  a  little  table  in  the  courtyard,  drinking  coffee 
and  listening  to  the  plash  of  a  fountain.  He  was  not 
thinking,  he  was  not  even  dreaming.  On  this  night  of 
nights  he  was  simply  being,  with  the  velvet  air  all  about 
him  and  the  stars  of  an  alien  hemisphere  swinging  low 
and  friendly  in  their  courses. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RIO,   THE   PLACE   IS 


TIM  WHITTAKER  lay  late  the  next  morning,  be- 
**  tween  sleeping  and  waking.  This  he  did  partly  be- 
cause it  was  delicious  in  itself,  and  partly  because  he 
shrank  a  little  from  facing  this  new  day.  Of  course  he 
wanted  to  see  Zoe;  of  course  he  was  eager  to  be  wtih 
her  again.  But  he  knew  that  as  soon  as  he  definitely 
waked  to  this  new  day  he  must  take  up  a  burden  of  re- 
sponsibility —  a  delicious  burden,  one  that  in  fact  he  ached 
to  assume,  but  a  burden  heavy  with  the  contact  of  the 
actual.  He  would  have  arrangements  to  make,  perhaps 
this  very  day;  and  there  would  be  people  at  home  to 
notify.  It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  thought  much 
about  home  ;  yet  very  soon  he  should  be  on  his  way  there. 
In  a  few  days,  perhaps,  he  would  be  starting  north  —  as 
a  married  man;  he  shivered  deliciously  as  he  lay.  As  a 
man  to  whom  a  woman's  happiness  had  been  entrusted, 
a  man  who  must  help  a  woman  to  make  her  adjustments 
to  his  world;  and  the  woman  was  strange  in  herself, 
and  of  a  world  very  far  removed  from  Jim's.  Adjust- 
ment would  not  be  altogether  easy. 

Jim  turned  his  mind  from  responsibility  and  the  neces- 
sity of  adjustment;  he  wrapped  himself  again  in  his 
grateful  lethargy.  He  was  roused  by  a  servant,  who 
brought  to  his  bedside  the  expected  note  from  Zoe.  A 
moment  longer  Jim  postponed  knowledge,  from  native 
cowardice  and  also  to  prolong  the  pleasure  of  anticipa- 

160 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  161 

tion.  For  responsible  or  not,  he  was  mad  about  the 
woman ;  and  to  lie  here  holding  in  his  hand  the  envelope 
that  had  so  lately  been  in  hers,  and  to  read  again  and 
again  his  own  name  written  in  her  even  exact  hand — her 
penmanship  was  wonderfully  unaffected  and  legible — to 
lie  here  so  was  a  luxury  becoming  and  grateful  to  a 
lover. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  that  Jim  got  his  ecstasy 
over  before  he  opened  her  note;  for  there  was  nothing 
inside  to  stir  him  unless  the  ultimate  purport  of  her  brief 
message  did  so.  She  simply  asked  him  to  come  to  her 
hotel  that  afternoon,  and  named  the  hour.  Jim  was  dis- 
appointed: he  had,  somehow,  expected  something  more, 
or  at  least  something  different.  Was  she  appropriately 
and  delightfully  modest,  here  and  now?  Or  was  she 
simply  cautious — some  natures  shrank  from  incrimi- 
nating themselves  in  writing?  Or  did  she  accept  the 
situation  implicitly,  and  see  no  need  for  any  great  talk- 
ing? 

Jim  breakfasted  at  some  length,  although  he  was  not 
very  hungry.  Then  he  strolled  out  to  explore  the  city. 
His  geographical  knowledge  was  not  greatly  increased 
by  what  he  saw ;  for  inside  ten  minutes  he  had  bethought 
himself  of  his  first  visit  here,  when  he  and  Zoe  spent 
a  few  hours  exploring  the  city  together.  After  that  he 
strolled  on  oblivious  of  the  beautiful  southern  capital, 
sprawling  picturesquely  among  heights.  He  remembered 
only  Zoe,  and  more  especially  Zoe  as  she  had  been  at 
the  time  of  that  first  visit.  He  shuddered  even  now  at 
the  remembrance  of  her  icy  remoteness;  and  remember- 
ing it  so  well,  he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  see  why 
the  woman  had  ever  changed  as  she  had.  Some  terrible 
things  lose  their  terrors  on  acquaintance ;  but  the  terrors 
are  an  integral  part  of  others.  A  man  may  conceivably 


162  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

wrestle  even  with  an  angel;  but  some  mountain  peaks 
remain  forever  unscalable. 

Dreamily  Jim  drifted  back  to  his  hotel;  mechanically 
he  made  him  ready  to  go  to  Zoe.  Then  presently  he 
was  in  the  streets  again.  And  then  without  warning  he 
suddenly  found  himself  broad  awake,  most  thrillingly 
and  eagerly  conscious  of  every  trifle  that  impinged  upon 
his  sharpened  senses. 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  afternoon  promenade;  and  all 
fashionable  Rio  de  Janeiro  was  taking  the  air  along  the 
way  which  led  him  to  Zoe.  Jim  was  on  foot  himself ;  at 
first  they  passed  him  in  vehicles,  but  later,  in  their  fa- 
mous promenade,  the  natives  too  were  walking.  It 
seemed  to  Jim  that  he  had  never  seen  men  of  such  dis- 
tinction; these  southern  peoples,  when  you  came  right 
down  to  it,  had  an  aptitude  for  attracting  some  sorts  of 
experience  and  then  moulding  it  into  themselves  that  we 
Anglo-Saxons  conspicuously  lacked.  And  as  for  the 
women,  Jim  felt  that  on  his  way  to  his  so  different 
woman  he  ought  perhaps  to  notice  them  only  for  pur- 
poses of  contrast ;  and  perhaps  it  was  so  that  he  noticed 
them.  But  he  noticed  them  horribly:  he  seemed  to  be 
drawn  in  a  dozen  different  directions  at  once  by  the  allure 
of  their  shapely  little  heads  and  their  black  eyes  and 
their  quick  southern  gesticulation. 

He  arrived  at  Zoe's  hotel,  however,  without  mishap. 
He  was  not  ahead  of  time,  but  he  was  most  becomingly 
prompt.  And  without  delay  he  was  shown  to  Zoe's  sit- 
ting-room; she  had  left  word  for  him  to  be  sent  up  at 
once. 

The  hotel  seemed  very  cool  and  dim  after  the  street; 
and  it  was  quiet,  almost  dismally  quiet.  Jim,  following 
the  soft-shod  attendant  along  the  corridor,  seemed  to 
his  own  consciousness  to  come  as  a  disturber:  at  any 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  163 

rate,  he  had  never,  in  his  life  been  himself  farther  from 
tranquillity. 

Zoe's  voice  answered  the  attendant's  knock.  He 
opened  the  door  for  Jim,  and  closed  it  behind  him.  And 
after  many  days  the  lovers  were  once  more  together. 

She  had  been  waiting  for  him.  She  stood  near  the 
opposite  end  of  the  long  room,  with  the  fingers  of  one 
hand  resting  lightly  on  a  table.  Her  hair  was  in  its 
familiar  low  coil,  which  glinted  even  in  the  carefully 
shaded  room.  She  wore  a  shining  white  dress,  belted 
at  the  hips  with  magnificent  gold  and  peacock  embroid- 
ery; it  fell  in  swirling  folds  about  her  feet.  Just  as  she 
stood  she  might  have  been  put  ,on  canvas  by  any  painter 
daring  enough  to  make  the  attempt:  such  was  her  self- 
control,  so  complete  as  to  be  in  the  end  unconscious,  such 
was  her  signal,  her  startling  beauty. 

It  was,  indeed,  her  mere  beauty  which  for  the  mo- 
ment possessed  Jim.  Their  brief  bitter  interview  on  the 
Polyphemia  had  passed  from  his  consciousness  as  if  it 
had  never  taken  place ;  and  in  those  last  days  aboard  the 
Helga  he  had  had  her  so  completely  that  he  had  scarcely 
ever  to  look  at  her.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could 
never  have  done  looking.  He  did,  indeed,  advance  to- 
ward her;  but  it  was  with  the  halting  progress  of  a  man 
dragged  along  in  a  trance. 

Finally  he  reached  the  table  near  which  she  stood; 
still  he  feasted  his  eyes,  and  still  he  did  not  approach  her 
with  lip  or  hand.  Then  it  came  to  him  that  under  the 
circumstances  he  was  probably  doing  the  best  thing  pos- 
sible: this  was  no  time  to  thrust  himself  hungrily  for- 
ward. Now  he  should  encounter,  doubtless,  the  last 
stand  of  her  retreating  maidenhood.  This  was  her  time 
to  hold  herself  dear,  all  the  dearer,  indeed,  poor  girl,  for 
what  had  gone  before.  Jim  felt  in  that  curious  en- 


164  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

compassing  silence  a  sudden  twinge  at  the  thought  of 
what  had  gone  before;  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would 
like  it  better  if  he  were  now  for  the  first  time  approach- 
ing her  as  a  lover.  Then  he  hated  himself  for  the 
thought, — as  if  Zoe  were  merely  a  sweet  morsel,  to  be 
preferred  above  other  sweet  morsels  according  to  its 
superior  freshness!  She  was  in  fact  generous  above 
all  other  women,  as  he  very  well  knew.  In  tribute  to 
her  perfect  generosity,  no  less  than  to  her  perfect  beauty, 
Jim  finally  stood  waiting. 

She  moved  just  in  time  to  keep  their  long  silence  from 
becoming  ridiculous.  She  motioned  him  to  a  seat  near 
the  open  shaded  windows;  she  herself  sat  down  nearby, 
crossing  one  knee  over  the  other,  and  revealing  silk-clad 
ankles  and  delicately  arched  slippers  for  a  moment  be- 
fore her  shining  gown  was  readjusted  into  fresh  folds. 
One  hand  lay  relaxed  on  her  knee ;  the  other  lay  on  the 
seat  beside  her.  Again  her  eyes  met  his,  and  held  them 
in  silent  scrutiny.  Like  a  worshipper  who  appreciates 
the  beauty  of  the  sanctuary  while  he  waits  for  services 
to  begin,  Jim  Whittaker  sat  and  watched  Zoe. 

When  at  length  the  goddess  spoke,  it  was  to  offer  him 
tea.  To  Jim's  American  taste  the  weather  was  too  warm 
for  tea;  but  in  his  trance-like  condition  he  accepted  and 
drank.  And  then  suddenly  he  was  aware  of  a  familiar 
but  ever-new  pleasure,  the  pleasure  of  little  things  shared 
with  the  beloved,  and  of  a  many  times  experienced  but 
always  unbelievable  wonder,  the  incredible  sight  of  the 
heaven-descended  absorbing  nourishment  just  like  one's 
earth-born  self. 

"Will  you  have  another  cup?"  she  asked. 

So  Jim  drank  another,  partly  for  the  fun  of  watching 
her  pour  it,  and  partly  in  order  not  to  have  to  begin  yet 
with  what  must  soon  be  said. 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  165 

"Is  it  a  wonderful  day  ?"  asked  Zoe,  setting  down  her 
own  cup. 

"Wonderful,  but  very  warm.  Haven't  you  been  out?" 
asked  Jim. 

"No." 

"Then  that's  an  idea.    Shan't  we  go?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I'd  rather  stay  here,  where  it's 
quiet,"  she  said. 

"Then  here  we  stay,"  announced  Jim.  And  then  it 
was  very  quiet  indeed;  and  he  grew  unexpectedly  em- 
barrassed. 

"What  do  you  hear  from  the  Helga?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  I  hear  from  her?" 

"Yes.     About  repairs." 

"Oh,  it  won't  take  long  for  repairs.  The  captain  was 
here  this  morning  to  report." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Jim.  "There  really 
wasn't  much  damage  done,  then,  by  all  that  knocking 
about?" 

"Surprisingly  little.  Oh,  I  have  had  a  bit  of  news!" 
she  recalled.  "Mr.  Masterson  sent  a  letter  by  the  cap- 
tain; he  intends  to  leave  the  Helga  as  soon  as  I  can 
replace  him." 

Jim  whistled  inwardly:  Masterson  wasn't  letting  any 
grass  grow  under  the  feet  of  his  good  intentions.  "Shall 
you  be  sorry  to  lose  him?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  shall,"  said  Zoe  definitely.  "You  mustn't 
judge  Mr.  Masterson  by  what  you  saw  of  him  «n  this 
cruise.  He's  really  a  good  sailor,  much  too  good,  indeed, 
to  linger  along  as  the  mate  of  a  private  yacht.  But  his 
leaving  puts  a  double  burden  of  finding  new  people  on 
me,  I'm  afraid.  Without  him,  I  may  have  to  let  my 
captain  go.'* 


166  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Then  you  no  longer  think  so  highly  of  that  ancient 
mariner?" 

Zoe  frowned;  but  she  said  frankly  enough,  "My  dear 
Jim,  if  that  ancient  mariner  had  been  worth  a  grain  of 
his  marine  salt,  we  might  have  been  spared  the  worst 
part  of  our  tragic  faux  pas." 

Jim  didn't  like  that.  "I  wouldn't  have  spared  a  pang 
of  it,"  he  said,  low  but  hotly. 

"Wouldn't  you?"  asked  Zoe.    "Well,  I  would." 

To  all  appearances  they  had  now  broken  into  their  sub- 
ject; yet  Jim  didn't  find  it  easy  to  go  on.  They  might 
talk  about  her  captain,  or  her  plans,  or  her  soul ;  but  he 
couldn't  catch  the  tone  he  had  caught  on  the  Helga.  She 
was  a  strange  woman :  she  didn't  belong.  Jim  felt  as  if 
during  the  days  of  her  seclusion  aboard  the  Polyphemia 
she  had  been  proofing  her  soul  in  armour.  Probably  that 
was  just  what  she  had  been  doing;  perhaps  that  was  why 
his  instinct  had  protested  against  having  her  aboard  the 
Polyphemia  by  herself. 

He  was  uncomfortably  silent;  then  he  began  to  won- 
der about  Masterson,  and  whether  that  singular  man  was 
actually  freeing  himself.  Freedom  was  a  very  fine  thing 
— for  Masterson;  it  wouldn't  do  for  Jim  to  think  how 
fine  a  thing  freedom  was. 

He  ceased  to  think  very  much  of  anything;  he  sat  ab- 
sently in  the  dim  quiet  of  the  big  room ;  absently  his  eyes 
followed  the  long  lovely  line  from  Zoe's  thigh  to  her 
knee,  the  other  line  from  her  knee  to  the  toe  of  her  shoe. 
He  was  roused  by  her  voice,  full  and  sweet,  with  its 
trilled  r's  that  lingered  in  the  ear.  "After  all,  it  isn't 
easy  to  part,  is  it,  Jim?" 

"To  part?  Who  is  going  to  part?"  asked  Jim,  hon- 
estly bewildered. 

"You  and  I,  Jim.    I  shall  wait  here  until  the  Helga  is 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  167 

repaired;  and  you  will  take  a  passage  for  New  York 
as  soon  as  you  can  get  it." 

"Shall  I  ?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "Perhaps  you  can  tell 
me  how  soon  that  will  be,  Zoe?" 

"You  can  get  a  passage  in  less  than  a  week." 

"Can  I  ?  You  seem  to  have  it  very  thoroughly  worked 
out  in  your  mind." 

"Then  it — is  agreeable  to  you?"  she  asked. 

"No,  of  course  it  isn't.  And  of  course  I'm  not  going. 
It  may  seem  ungrateful,  Zoe;  but  your  kindly  thought- 
out  arrangements  don't  happen  to  suit  me.  They  don't 
suit  me  at  all." 

"What  would  suit  you?"  she  asked,  glancing  at  him 
for  the  first  time  in  many  minutes. 

"To  stay  here  with  you,  of  course,  and  leave  with  you, 
in  the  Helga.  Incidentally  and  in  the  meantime,  to  marry 
you  at  one  of  the  consulates.  You  can  have  your  choice 
as  to  the  consulate,  I  think;  are  you  a  British  subject, 
Zoe?" 

"That  would  be  rather  idyllic,"  she  said  smoothly. 
"Unfortunately,  it  isn't  possible." 

"Which  part  of  it  isn't  possible  ?  And  why  not  ?"  de- 
manded Jim. 

"My  marrying  you  isn't  possible." 

"Zoe!" 

"I  simply  haven't  any  idea  of  marrying  you,"  she  said 
gently  and  clearly. 

"You  startled  me,"  he  explained.  "I  thought  for  the 
moment  that  you  had  a  husband  already." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  A  husband  is  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  that  I  want.  That  is  what  I  am  telling  you." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Jim.  "A  good  many  girls  feel 
that  way,  Zoe;  but  their  minds  can  be  changed." 

"I'm  not  a  callow  miss,  and  mine  can't,"  she  argued. 


168  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"If  I  wanted  to  marry — pardon  me  for  calling  this  to 
your  attention — don't  you  suppose  that  I  could  have 
married  fifty  times  over  to  better  advantage  than  I  should 
gain  by  marrying  you?" 

"You  needn't  beg  my  pardon  for  that,"  asserted  Jim. 
"That  is  obvious.  But  I'd  like  to  call  your  attention  to 
one  or  two  facts  that  seem  to  have  escaped  you." 

"I  am  listening,"  she  said.  "If  anything  has  escaped 
me " 

"In  the  first  place,  everybody  does  marry,  you  know, 
sooner  or  later.  The  institution  isn't  ideal,  by  any 
means;  but  it's  still  the  best  thing  we  have.  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  Zoe,  marriage  needn't  hamper  you — much," 
said  the  conscientious  Jim.  "We  Americans  don't  find 
it  hampering,  as  you  may  have  gathered ;  and  my  own 
opinions  on  the  subject  are  fairly  liberal." 

"And  thirdly?"  she  asked,  as  if  some  clever  exposition 
of  ideas  were  being  offered  for  her  benefit. 

"Thirdly,  my  dear,  you  love  me,"  finished  Jim. 

"Oh,  love — !"  A  gesture  of  her  arm  sought  to  sweep 
love  away. 

"Yes,  you  do.  Whether  you  admit  it  or  not,  whether 
you  realise  it  or  not,  you  love  me.  Of  course,"  Jim  went 
on,  "after  you  have  shut  yourself  up  from  me  for  days 
and  days,  and  spent  your  time  hardening  your  heart 
against  me,  you  can  make  yourself  believe  that  you  don't. 
But  I  know  better." 

"You  know  very  well,  if  you  know  all  that,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  even  believe  in  love,  in  the  sense  in  which  you 
use  the  word." 

"Do  you  believe  in  it  in  any  sense?" 

"Oh,  there  is  something — !  Something  that  makes 
a  man  agreeable  to  a  woman — in  a  certain  way.  I  don't 
know  how  I  should  have  endured  those  days  on  the  Helga 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  169 

if  it  hadn't  been  <for  you.  Jim,  I  thought  we  were  lost — 
I  did  indeed.  And  I  was  frightened.  I  don't  ever  re- 
member having  been  frightened  before.  I  thought  my 
life  was  almost  over;  I  realised  how  much  of  life  I  had 
after  all  missed.  I — I  snatched." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sat  so  a 
breathing-space.  Suddenly  she  flung  her  hands  out  with 
a  little  cry.  "You  are  not  to  think  that  I'm  not  fond  of 
you,  Jim.  I  am  fond  of  you;  I  appreciate  you.  No 
woman  ever  had  a  lover  who  was  finer  or  more — con- 
siderate. But  don't  you  see,  dear,  if  any  other  man — 
not  in  himself  disagreeable — had  happened  to  be  aboard 
the  Helga  with  me  then,  the  result  would  have  been  much 
the  same?" 

"I  do  see  that,"  answered  Jim.  "And  I  can't  say  that 
I  take  any  pleasure  in  the  seeing.  At  the  same  time,  Zoe, 
I  think  you  make  too  much  of  it.  It  was  I,  and  not  an- 
other man,  who  was  there,  you  see." 

"I  see.  I  thank  you  for  the  practical,  the  immensely 
masculine  character,  of  the  suggestion,"  she  said.  "You 
were  there." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  walked  to  the  window; 
she  pushed  the  blind  aside,  and  stood  for  a  minute  look- 
ing down  into  the  street.  When  she  returned  to  him  her 
face  was  twisted  with  anguish.  Perhaps  partly  to  hide 
that  face  from  him,  but  partly  no  doubt  in  order  to  soften 
what  she  had  to  say,  she  came  and  stood  behind  his  chair ; 
she  put  one  arm  around  his  neck,  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  his  hair.  "I  fall  between  two  stools,  Jim,  that's 
all,"  she  murmured.  "I  don't  know  what's  the  matter, 
but  two  strains  always  seem  to  be  fighting  it  out  in  me ; 
and  on  this  point  they  have  fought  it  out  to  a  miserable 
balance.  If  I  believed  in  love  absolutely,  as  you  do,  I 
should  marry  you,  I  dare  say.  If  I  absolutely  disbe- 


170  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

lieved  in  it  except  as  a  pleasant  temporary  bond,  perhaps 
I  should  marry  you — I  think  I  should.  But  as  it  is,  I'm 
going  to  go  on  until  I  find  something  more,  or  until  I 
forget  you." 

Jim  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them.  "You  can't  go 
on  that  way,  Zoe,"  he  said.  "You're  a  human  woman, 
though  I  sometimes  think  that  you  have  never  yet  realised 
that  fact.  If  you  try  to  keep  on  in  your  own  indifferent 
way,  either  this  thing  or  one  like  it  will  tear  you  to  pieces 
in  the  end." 

She  gave  a  miserable  little  laugh.  "Ah,  Jim,  if  it  only 
would  'tear  me  to  pieces' — then  I  should  at  least  know !" 

"You  will  find  out,"  he  said. 

She  withdrew  her  hands,  and  as  she  did  so  he  rose. 
They  stood  confronted  over  the  back  of  his  chair.  "I 
shan't  give  up  my  hopes,"  he  said,  very  low. 

"You  would  better.  Vain  regrets  won't  help  you,  and 
that  is  what  your  hopes  will  change  to,"  she  said. 

"You  will  see." 

"Oh,  I  shan't  see  much !  It  is  unlikely,"  she  told  him, 
"that  after  the  next  few  days  we  shall  ever  see  each  other 
again."  For  a  moment  he  thought  that  her  eyes,  her 
curious  black-lashed  intense  eyes,  were  dazzling  and 
inimical. 

"It  is  more  unlikely  that  we  shall  never  see  each  other. 
The  world,"  Jim  assured  her,  "is  a  small  place,  and  you 
are  a  marked  woman,  you  know,  Zoe." 

"At  least,  we  can  see  each  other  a  few  times  before  you 
leave  for  home,"  she  said. 

"To-morrow,  and  the  day  after,  and  the  day  after 
that?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

She  laughed  a  little.  "Yes,  perhaps  all  three  of  them," 
she  said.  "If  you  come  here  to-morrow  with  your  pas- 
sage in  your  pocket,  I  think  definitely  all  three." 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  171 

She  was  very, sure  of  herself;  he  would  almost  have 
liked  it  better  if  Zoe  had  cut  him  off  then  and  there. 
Her  sureness  flashed  across  his  mind  a  suspicion 
that  this  wasn't  the  first  affair  of  the  kind  in  which  Zoe 
had  been  engaged.  Of  course,  it  wasn't  particularly  his 
business  if  it  weren't;  but  that  might  account  for  many 
things.  Only  the  suspicion  somehow  couldn't  stand. 
The  people  on  the  Helga  had  taken  his  presence  and  de- 
meanour very  calmly;  and  Masterson  had  looked  pity- 
ingly at  him  along  toward  the  end,  as  if  perhaps  he  had 
seen  other  ends  like  it.  If  that  were  indeed  the  case, 
what  a  figure  he  must  cut  in  Zoe's  eyes,  solemnly  pro- 
posing marriage ! 

But  his  suspicion  wasn't  true.  Masterson  had  him- 
self said,  "She  loves  you,"  had  explicitly  let  Jim  know 
that  he  regarded  him  as  the  chosen  one.  And  Zoe  on 
board  the  Helga  hadn't  gone  about  things  like  a  prac- 
tised mistress;  she  had  been  straightforward  and  pas- 
sionate, and  at  times  quite  startlingly  naive.  No,  what- 
ever else  she  took  from  him,  she  must  leave  him  the 
memory  of  those  precious  days  on  the  Helga,  those  days 
under  the  shadow  of  fear  that  now,  with  the  bright  sun- 
shine all  about  him,  he  looked  back  upon  and  envied. 

"Zoe,"  he  cried,  "if  we  had  only  gone  down  together 
on  the  Helga !" 

"Jim,  if  we  only  had !" 

Her  eyes  were  shining  and  splendid  then;  he  couldn't 
believe  that  she  had  ever  been  afraid  of  death.  But  she 
was  afraid  of  life;  and  if  she  kept  on  much  longer  she 
would  end  by  making  him  afraid,  too. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  for  a  moment,  kissed  her,  re- 
leased her.  "If  you  could  only  trust  life  a  little  more, 
my  dear " 

"I  can't.    I  never  have,"  she  said. 


172  THE  VANISHED  HELGA1 

Jim  had  an  odd  feeling  at  that  moment,  almost  as  if 
the  dead  Dan  Lenox  and  the  vanished  Helga  were  ac- 
tually in  the  room  with  their  descendant.  It  was  un- 
canny; but^it  left  him  enough  himself  to  think  that  if 
they  had  been  there,  they  would  have  marvelled  greatly 
at  the  doings  of  another  generation.  Dan  Lenox  and 
his  Helga  hadn't  been  afraid  to  trust  their  love;  they 
would  have  been  dum  founded  at  the  spectacle  of  their 
child  so  coolly  denying  hers.  Yet  it  probably  wasn't 
Zoe's  fault  that  in  her  case  things  approached  so  tame  a 
termination,  or  rather  no  termination  at  all.  Dan  Lenox 
would  take  his  woman  by  storm ;  whereas  Jim  Whittaker 
stood  and  argued  with  his. 

A  sense  of  perfect  hopelessness,  a  feeling  that  he 
didn't  deserve  anything  he  wished  for,  and  that  he 
wouldn't  get  anything  better  than  he  deserved,  came  over 
Jim.  "I  think  I  shall  bid  you  good-bye  until  to-morrow, 
Zoe,"  he  said  dully,  and  revived  a  little  to  add,  "that  is, 
if  I  may  surely  come  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  do.  Come  for  luncheon,  if  you  like,"  said  Zoe 
heartily.  She  was  never  one  to  cavil  about  details. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Jim.  He  kissed  her,  and  left  her; 
he  went  down  to  the  street.  In  an  hour,  the  whole  com- 
plexion of  the  world  had  altered.  He  trod  the  same  streets 
that  had  been  golden  when  they  led  to  her;  they  were 
now  unspeakably  mean  and  dull,  and  heavy  with  an  acrid 
odour  of  hateful  humanity.  And  the  heavenly  people  who 
had  earlier  walked  with  him  had  given  place  to  horrible, 
smirking  foreigners,  and  she-devils  without  even  a  she- 
devil's  characteristic  charm. 

Jim  stopped  on  his  way  to  order  flowers  for  Zoe;  as 
he  walked  he  planned  a  series  of  entertaining  little  jaunts 
for  the  two  of  them.  If  he  still  had  five  or  six  days 
with  her,  five  or  six  days  might  mean  much.  It  was  his 


RIO,  THE  PLACE  IS  CALLED  173 

policy,  he  saw  clearly,  to  keep  up  hope  and  endeavour. 
But  actually  he  had  to-night  no  hope.  He  who  had  gone 
forth  like  a  conquering  hero  so  shortly  before  returned 
utterly  weary  and  dispirited.  He  was  disgusted  with 
Zoe,  with  himself,  with  life.  And  not  the  least  of  what 
he  had  to  endure  was  that  as  the  hours  drew  on  he  felt 
more  and  more  sickeningly  a  fool.  To  have  ever  thought 
of  imprisoning  Zoe  Lenox  in  the  neat  little  nest  which 
was  what  he  could  offer  as  marriage  had  showed  him  a 
fool  to  begin  with.  And  having  made  the  offer,  to  yield 
her  up  as  he  felt  he  was  now  going  to  yield  her — that 
showed  him  a  fool  in  conclusion.  A  fool,  a  fool — he 
took  a  dismal  delight  in  repeating  the  good  old  English 
word.  A  fool,  a  fool;  and  not  the  less  so  for  having 
always  been  a  well-intentioned  fool,  and  for  being,  as  he 
laid  him  down  in  his  lonely  bed  to-night,  an  anguished 
fool  as  well. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

VALEDICTORY 

JIM  woke  in  a  better  frame  of  mind.  He  had  still 
almost  a  week  with  Zoe;  and  if  a  man  has  but  a 
week,  all  is  not  lost.  Many  a  woman  has  been  wooed 
and  won  in  less,  though  to  be  sure  a  rewinning  is  rather 
more  difficult. 

He  went  out  about  the  middle  of  the  morning,  and 
booked  his  passage  north.  The  steamer  was  to  sail  in 
five  days — Zoe  had  been  pretty  well  informed ;  she  must 
have  telephoned  to  find  out.  Then  he  wrote  to  his  part- 
ner and  to  his  oldest  brother,  telling  them  when  they 
might  expect  him.  He  didn't  know  whether  they  might 
expect  him  alone  or  accompanied,  and  of  course  he  said 
nothing  on  that  point.  But  this  morning  he  had  strength 
to  hope  that  Zoe  would  be  convinced,  not  perhaps  by 
him,  but  by  the  power  of  the  truth  that  was  in  him. 

The  two  of  them  lunched  and  motored  together  that 
day;  they  lunched  and  dined  together  the  next.  Zoe 
fell  in  with  all  his  suggestions;  apparently  she  gave  him 
every  opportunity  to  advance  his  cause.  That  only 
showed  how  secure  she  was  in  her  resolution.  For  he 
had  every  opportunity,  and  his  cause  didn't  advance. 
He  wooed  his  lady  softly,  caressingly;  and  she  met  him 
softly,  distantly.  He  wooed  her  hotly ;  and  she  met  him 
coolly.  He  neglected  her,  scolded  her,  gloomed  before 
her;  and  she  became  gay  and  good-natured,  and  sought 
to  amuse  him. 


VALEDICTORY  175 

Jim  was  forced  finally  to  the  conclusion  that  her  at- 
tachment to  him  had  been  solely  the  product  of  circum- 
stances. She  thought  that  the  whole  ship-load  of  them 
was  doomed  to  destruction;  groping  to  find  something 
that  would  keep  her  from  going  mad,  she  had  found  him. 
But  when  they  were  all  restored  to  life,  he  no  longer 
suited  her ;  and  in  those  secluded  days  on  board  the  Poly- 
phemia  she  had  regained  her  self-control,  until  her  nerves 
were  as  steady  as  her  purpose. 

One  evening  as  they  lingered  over  their  after-dinner 
coffee,  Jim  seized  her  hand  across  the  table — her  left 
hand,  as  it  happened.  She  let  him  keep  it  for  a  moment, 
intending  to  withdraw  it  when  she  pleased.  But  it  wasn't 
Jim's  purpose  simply  to  sit  with  her  fingers  in  his.  He 
slowly  turned  her  hand  over,  exposing  a  pink  scar  on 
the  inner  side  of  the  wrist.  Holding  it  firmly  with  his 
right  hand,  he  laid  his  own  scarred  left  wrist  beside  it, 
and  looked  Zoe  in  the  eye.  "Your  scar  has  healed  bet- 
ter than  mine,"  he  remarked.  "Or  perhaps  it  wasn't 
burned  quite  so  deeply." 

He  had  found  a  small  chink  in  the  armour.  Zoe 
flushed  scarlet,  and  he  could  feel  the  tenseness  of  her 
arm.  "Don't,  please  don't,"  she  said,  "remind  me  of 
that  childish  folly." 

"Folly,  if  you  like,"  said  Jim.  "Or  madness,  rather. 
Perhaps  we  thought  at  the  time  that  it  was  madness.  But 
it  was  a  sublime  madness,  dear,  a  madness  the  conse- 
quences of  which  we  needn't  refuse  to  accept." 

Slowly  her  colour  subsided,  her  tenseness  relaxed ;  she 
laid  a  cool  right  hand  on  his.  "Madness  or  folly,  or 
mere  unmentionable  freak,  as  you  like,"  she  said.  "Fix 
its  character  to  suit  yourself ;  I  ask  you  only  to  remem- 
ber that  it's  a  sealed  book.  So  long  as  you  remember 
that,  you  may  call  it  anything  you  like." 


176  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Jim  released  her,  and  she  picked  up  her  coffee-cup. 
Over  its  brim  she  remarked,  "What  seems  to  worry 
you  most,  Jim,  is  just  the  queerness  of  it  all.  Yet  that's 
really  what  ought  to  worry  you  least.  It's  just  my  queer- 
ness.  Can't  you  allow  for  that?  I'm  a  queer  foreigner 
— you  knew  that  from  the  beginning." 

"And  I'm  an  odd  American?"  suggested  Jim. 

"Yes.  An  odd  American,  with  honourable  intentions." 
She  smiled  suddenly,  brilliantly,  overwhelmingly.  Jim 
smiled  in  answer,  but  rather  sheepishly.  Of  course  she 
could  carry  this  thing  against  him,  if  she  took  that  par- 
ticular tone :  she  could  make  him  out  a  ridiculous,  seri- 
ous, inexperienced  boy.  But  he  hated  that  tone,  and  not 
only  because  it  made  him  out  a  fool.  It  was  what  it 
made  her  out  that  bothered  him. 

Eventually  he  gave  the  whole  thing  up,  and  said  so; 
but  it  was  not  until  their  last  evening  together.  Jim 
was  to  sail  the  next  day;  and  they  dined  at  her  hotel, 
with  the  understanding  that  they  were  not  to  see  each 
other  again.  Their  little  table  was  set  beside  a  window 
that  opened  on  a  courtyard  full  of  tropic  plants;  and  in 
the  velvet  sky  visible  above  their  tops,  those  southern 
stars  which  had  looked  down  on  Jim's  romance  presided 
over  its  cool  termination. 

For  it  was  not  Zoe  alone  who  was  cool  to-night.  Now 
that  he  had  come  to  a  realisation  of  his  own  defeat,  Jim 
was  quite  glacial.  He  looked  at  Zoe  critically;  he  ad- 
mitted and  appraised  her  charm;  he  paid  tribute,  now 
and  always,  to  her  beauty.  And  Zoe,  relieved  that  he 
was  at  last  taking  things  so  well,  carried  the  evening 
glowingly  forward. 

Over  his  cigarette  Jim  waxed  critical  and  valedictory. 
"You  are  nothing,  you  know,  but  a  hedonist,"  he  in- 
formed her. 


VALEDICTORY  177 

Zoe  smiled  sweetly,  and  leaned  a  little  forward.  "I 
am  glad  you  realise  that,"  she  said. 

"The  accident  of  your  beauty,"  he  went  on,  "and  the 
farther  accident  of  your  wealth,  which  enables  you  to 
give  your  beauty  a  becoming  and  magnificent  setting, 
make  you  more  or  less  dangerous.  If  you  had  a  little 
more  strength  in  yourself,  you  would  be  dangerous  any- 
way. But  you  aren't." 

"I  haven't  any  desire  to  be,"  Zoe  assured  him.  "I 
don't  care  for  power,  you  see ;  hedonists  don't.  Give  me 
a  quiet  life " 

"And  such  occasional  distraction  as  may  appeal  to 
you?" 

She  accepted  the  suggestion.  "Yes.  Give  me  those 
two  things,  and  you  may  have  your  strength  and  your 
resultant  power." 

Jim  smoked  a  minute  in  silence,  studying  her  across 
the  table.  "Do  you  intend,"  he  asked,  "to  go  on  in  ex- 
actly this  way  forever  ?" 

"That,  my  dear  Jim,"  she  said  with  smiling  patience, 
"is  what  I  have  been  trying  for  a  week  to  impress  upon 
you!" 

"Because,"  Jim  went  on  slowly,  "that  is  exactly  what 
you  can't  do,  you  know." 

That  hit  told;  but  she  rallied  her  self-confidence  in  a 
twinkling.  "I  shall,"  she  declared.  "For  ever  and  ever. 
If  the  time  ever  comes  when  I  can't,  I  shall  lie  down  and 
die.  I  won't  live,  unless  I  can  live  as  I  choose." 

"That  sounds  very  young,  Zoe,"  he  said.  "In  some 
ways  you  are  experienced  enough ;  but  in  this  particular 
you  are  quite  shockingly  young.  Perhaps  that  is  all 
that  is  the  matter  with  you ;  for  it's  natural  enough  in  our 
youth  to  want  to  go  about  and  see  the  world.  It's  com- 
mendable, then,  to  try  to  seize  all  you  can  of  its  beauty 


178  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

and  perfume;  if  you  erred,  it  would  probably  be  on  the 
side  of  not  seizing  strongly  enough.  But,  you  see,  we 
aren't  always  young." 

"People  are  nowadays,"  objected  Zoe. 

"Not  actually  young,"  demurred  Jim.  "And  there's 
no  greater  tragedy  than  to  grow  old  and  sincerely  re- 
fuse to  admit  it,  whether  you're  an  old  fool  making  your- 
self ridiculous  over  a  girl  or  an  old  woman  clinging  to 
the  beauty  of  her  youth  instead  of  developing  the  beauty 
that's  proper  for  her  age." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  moralist,  Jim,"  she 
said.  "What  is  the  application  of  your  death's  head 
philosophy?  I  suppose  there  is  an  application?" 

"Simply  that  there  are  things  you  ought  to  know  of 
yourself,  without  being  told,"  replied  Jim. 

"More  simply  still,  that  I  ought  to  marry  you?" 

"That  too,  of  course,"  he  admitted. 

"That  seems  always  to  lie  at  the  end,  doesn't  it?"  she 
asked  amiably.  "Men  are  so  clever;  they  can  begin 
anywhere,  and  end  with  that !" 

"I  know  what  you  think,"  said  Jim.  "But  after  all  to 
see  the  foundation  of  things  beneath  the  superstructure 
implies  a  certain  directness,  if  it  doesn't  imply  cleverness. 
And  a  woman,  Zoe,  often  flatters  herself  that  she's  clever 
when  she's  only  evasive." 

"Selfish,  weak  and  sly,"  summarised  Zoe.  "I  wonder 
that  you  don't  think  yourself  well  rid  of  me." 

"Perhaps  I  shall,  sooner  or  later,"  said  Jim. 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  she  said. 

She  rested  one  arm  on  the  table,  and  looked  at  him. 
Jim  looked  back  at  her.  With  a  sudden  huskiness  he 
said,  "That  is  all  very  well,  dear,  if  it  were  true.  Un- 
fortunately, it  isn't.  You  are  more  of  a  woman  than 
you  realise;  and  some  day  you  will  learn  that  fact." 


VALEDICTORY  179 

She  didn't  belieVe  him,  but  she  didn't  choose  to  argue 
farther.  "Perhaps  I  shall,  Jim."  Then  she  added  with 
sudden  sweetness,  "If  I  have  that  to  learn,  Jim,  I'm  sorry 
that  you  weren't  the  one  to  teach  it  to  me." 

"You  may  learn  it  by  yourself,  and  in  bitterness  of 
heart,"  he  said. 

She  shivered  a  little,  and  her  lips  grew  white.  She 
picked  up  a  wine-glass,  and  drank  for  a  minute;  but 
when  she  put  it  down  it  looked  as  full  as  when  she  had 
taken  it  up.  "Some  one  walked  across  my  grave  just 
then,"  she  said.  "Please,  Jim,  no  more  Jeremiads  this 
evening." 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Jim;  and  he  rose  from  the  table. 
He  supposed  he  ought  to  propose  some  entertainment, 
if  there  were  to  be  no  more  Jeremiads.  "Shan't  we  get 
a  car,  and  drive  about  for  a  few  hours?"  he  asked.  "It's 
too  wonderful  a  night  to  sit  still." 

"Too  wonderful  a  night  to  sit  still,"  she  mimicked; 
she  found  that,  of  course,  very  American.  But  she  had 
a  wrap  brought;  she  allowed  him  to  summon  a  car,  and 
to  seat  her  in  it. 

To  drive  together  in  a  motor-car  seemed  to  suit  him 
and  Zoe  in  a  distinctive  way.  Seclusion  with  a  woman 
presents  itself  differently  according  to  the  character  of 
the  woman.  It  seems  natural  for  some  women  to  sit 
across  a  little  table  from  a  man,  and  for  others  to  walk  a 
wind-blown  height  with  him.  Jim  and  Zoe  had  done 
both,  and  enjoyed  both;  but  it  was  not  in  such  positions 
that  they  came  best  to  realise  themselves  and  each  other. 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  at  the  Helga's  rail  was  more  like 
it.  And  to  sit  facing  the  same  way,  as  they  sat  to-night, 
side  by  side  in  the  silent  dusk,  borne  along  through  space 
without  effort  on  their  part — oh,  this  was  very  much 
like  it !  Even  after  what  had  passed  between  them,  even 


180  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

in  view  of  what  lay  before,  this  was  fairly  the  real  thing ! 

Zoe  seemed  to  feel  it,  even  as  Jim  did.  She  sat  lean- 
ing back,  her  motionless  profile  toward  him ;  he  wondered 
afresh  at  that  characteristic  stillness  of  hers,  so  curious 
in  an  age  of  jumping  nerves.  He  was  glad  she  was  so 
quiet,  glad  she  was  so  silent;  his  spirit  seemed  to  find  a 
wonderful  peace  to-night,  just  when  he  might  have  ex- 
pected it  to  be  riven  asunder  by  the  thought  of  their 
parting. 

"I'm  sorry,  Jim,"  she  said  after  a  long,  long  time,  "that 
my  conduct  and  ideals  don't  suit  you.  If  you  carry  me  in 
mind,  I  should  like  to  have  you  carry  me  as  a  perfect 
episode;  and  I'm  afraid  you  can't  do  that  now.  You 
have  been  lovely,  Jim;  in  spite  of  your  fixed  idea,  you 
have.  I  shall  have  something  pleasant  to  remember,  you 
see.  And  so  might  you,  if  that  conduct  and  those  ideals 
satisfied  you  as  well  as — shall  I  say  my  eyes  and  hair?" 

"My  dear,  there  is  only  one  point  on  which  your  con- 
duct and  ideals  don't  suit  me,"  he  said.  "And  you  could 
remedy  that  if  you  would,  as  you  couldn't  a  defect  in 
your  eyes  or  hair." 

"No,  I  couldn't,  Jim.  Truly,  truly,  it  is  better  as  it 
is,"  she  whispered,  pacifically,  almost  drowsily. 

Jim  let  the  matter  rest,  and  in  silence  the  car  rolled  on 
and  on.  The  damp  air  of  night,  the  southern  stars,  the 
beloved  woman  beside  him,  and  a  car  that  rolled  silently 
on  and  on — it  all  made  for  Jim  a  moment  of  peace  be- 
tween hurricanes. 

Zoe's  hand  found  his  finally,  and  her  head  his  shoul- 
der. Jim  wondered  how,  feeling  as  she  did,  she  could 
endure  the  contact ;  but  to  him  it  was  pleasant,  and  not  in 
the  least  disturbing.  He  was  grateful  for  his  dreamy 
calm,  grateful  and  surprised.  He  knew  that  such  quiet 


VALEDICTORY  181 

would  not  always  be  his ;  to  have  had  it  his  to-night  was 
a  boon. 

It  was  late  when  they  gave  the  word  to  turn  back  to 
her  hotel.  "Shall  you  come  in?"  asked  Zoe. 

"Only  to  see  you  in,"  said  Jim. 

"Then "  She  put  her  lips  to  his,  her  arms  around 

his  neck;  with  all  the  sweetness  that  was  in  her,  she 
kissed  him  good-bye. 

Jim  kissed  her,  and  released  her.  Their  last  kiss,  he 
knew  it  to  be ;  he  was  curiously  calm  about  it.  Perhaps 
this  was  the  ease  of  weariness;  but  very  possibly  this 
whole  breaking  off  was  going  to  be  easier  for  him  than 
he  had  supposed  it  could  be. 

It  seemed  to  be  harder  for  Zoe.  She  drooped  against 
him ;  she  murmured  "Jim,  Jim !"  like  a  child  in  need  of 
comforting.  Jim  leaned  over  her  to  assure  her  kindly, 
almost  paternally,  that  they  needn't  part,  of  course,  if 
it  made  her  feel  that  way.  They  weren't  bound  to  be 
consistent;  and  they  needn't  hesitate  if  they  saw  fit  to 
change  their  minds.  There  was  still  time ;  she  had  only 
to  say  the  word. 

"That  isn't  what  I  want,  of  course,"  she  said.  She 
sat  up,  drying  her  eyes.  "I  was  only  thinking  that  I 
shall  miss  you,  Jim." 

"Yes.  I'm  a  good,  simple  soul;  and  I've  always  been 
easy  for  you  to  manage,"  said  Jim  quietly. 

She  laughed  a  little.  "Perhaps  that  is  what  I  had  in 
mind,"  she  said. 

"An  ordinary  woman,"  went  on  Jim,  "would  have  in- 
ferred from  my  docility  that  I  should  make  a  good  hus- 
band ;  and  she  would  have  inferred  correctly." 

"You  good,  simple,  docile  souls  show  amazing  inge- 
nuity in  working  around  to  your  favourite  topic,"  re- 
torted the  extraordinary  woman. 


182  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

They  did  not  speak  again  on  the  way  back.  At  Zoe's 
hotel  Jim  alighted ;  together  they  crossed  the  hotel  lobby 
toward  the  marble  staircase. 

On  the  second  step  Zoe  turned,  and  gave  him  her  hand 
in  dismissal.  Now  that  the  final  moment  was  upon  them, 
Jim  might  have  expected  his  calm  to  break;  but  if  it  did 
anything  it  deepened.  He  pressed  the  smooth  cool  hand 
in  his,  and  dropped  it  before  she  had  a  chance  to  with- 
draw it.  As  he  stood  looking  up  at  her,  white  cloak 
and  white  dress,  white  neck  and  white  face,  all  seemed 
to  run  together  into  one  indiscriminate  whiteness;  and 
he  couldn't  find  her  eyes.  But  the  gleam  of  her  hair, 
her  warm  fair  hair,  the  hair  that  she  had  of  her  mother, 
was  before  him  as  he  turned  away. 

The  next  morning  he  sailed  for  New  York,  alone. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME 

IN  after  years,  when  Jim  Whittaker  reviewed  the  hap- 
penings of  his  adventure  with  Zoe,  there  was  not  a 
transaction  aboard  the  Helga  that  his  memory  shunned. 
He  would  recall  those  last  days  in  Rio,  and  even  those 
brief  brutal  moments  on  the  Polyphemia.  But  never  if 
he  could  help  it  did  he  revert  even  for  an  instant  to  his 
passage  from  Rio  home. 

His  first  few  days  on  the  north-bound  steamer  he  kept 
the  factitious  calm  of  his  parting  from  Zoe;  he  kept  it, 
and  came  to  loathe  it.  This  calm  was  succeeded  by  a 
rage  of  defeated  passion.  He  could  not  eat,  he  could  not 
sleep;  he  walked  the  deck  hour  after  hour,  until  his  legs 
failed  under  him.  He  hated  the  steamer  because  it  con- 
tained him;  and  he  hated  it  because  it  was  a  ship,  and 
therefore  reminiscent  of  the  Helga.  He  hated  the  other 
people  on  board ;  he  walked  among  them  like  a  ghost,  or 
like  a  living  man  among  ghosts,  to  judge  from  the  vol- 
cano that  was  within  him.  But  he  was  filled  with  a 
nervous  dread  of  the  time  when  he  should  have  to  leave 
this  ship  and  these  people,  and  again  take  up  his  life 
among  the  surroundings  that  had  once  been  his. 

It  occurred  to  him,  the  last  night  he  spent  on  the  water, 
that  there  were  practical  as  well  as  spiritual  difficulties 
ahead  of  him  in  his  attempts  to  renew  the  old  life.  Jim 
tossed  all  night  in  his  berth,  wondering  how  he  could 
best  explain  his  long  absence.  All  his  life  he  had  made 

183 


184  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

it  a  habit  to  tell  the  truth:  sometimes  the  whole  truth, 
and  sometimes  a  judiciously  selected  fragment,  as  the 
case  seemed  to  demand.  Having  neither  the  memory  nor 
the  invention  to  lie,  he  had  always  found  the  truth  a 
capital  working  medium.  But  in  this  case  the  truth,  al- 
though simple,  was  absolutely  untellable. 

On  dry  land  and  in  the  light  of  day,  he  was  met  by  a 
humiliating  but  convenient  fact:  he  needn't,  unless  he 
chose,  give  much  of  any  explanation  of  his  absence. 
People  hadn't  spent  all  these  months  exclusively  in  won- 
dering where  Jim  Whittaker  was  and  what  he  was  do- 
ing; they  had  been,  on  the  contrary,  quite  busy  with 
their  own  concerns.  They  inquired  about  his  absence, 
to  be  sure,  and  said  they  were  glad  to  see  him  back ;  but 
few  of  them  went  beyond  mere  perfunctory  civility. 
With  the  few  who  did,  Jim  found  that  the  best  policy 
was  to  begin  copiously  and  cheerfully  to  give  informa- 
tion about  South  America;  that  soon  made  them  sheer 
off. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  who  made  the  dis- 
covery that  when  Jim  talked  about  South  America  he 
didn't  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  That  one  per- 
son was  his  partner.  Stephen  sought  to  learn  of  the 
business  opportunities  in  South  America;  and  in  a  half 
hour  that  was  rich  with  torture  for  Jim,  discovered  that 
Jim  hadn't  learned  anything  about  them  himself.  Then 
he  gave  up.  "Well,  so  long  as  you  know  about  business 
here,  I  suppose  it's  all  that's  necessary,"  he  concluded; 
and  then,  just  as  Jim  was  beginning  to  breathe  easily, 
remarked,  "I  think  such  a  change  ought  to  have  set  you 
up  more,  though.  You  look  a  little  seedy." 

"I'm  a  little  tired  this  morning.  I  shall  settle  to 
things  soon,  though;  uid  then  you  will  see  that  I'm 
better  than  ever." 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     185 

"I  hope  so,"  agreed  Stephen.  He  turned  with  relish 
to  talk  about  their  business,  in  which  Jim  strove  reso- 
lutely to  immerse  himself. 

His  pride  was  hurt,  during  the  next  few  weeks,  by  the 
discovery  that  there  were  after  all  few  things  in  which 
he  could  immerse  himself.  He  had  always  supposed  that 
he  lived  a  fairly  busy  life;  but  now  it  seemed  to  him  that 
before  the  advent  and  withdrawal  of  Zoe  he  must  have 
dawdled  along  for  years  without  compelling  interest. 
He  had  his  business,  and  he  had  his  books — a  fine  com- 
pelling interest  for  a  grown  man,  reading!  He  had 
such  gentlemanly  exercise  as  golf  and  riding;  he  had  the 
friends  he  had  always  had,  and  social  distraction  of  a 
sort  was  never  lacking.  But  his  friends,  all  cheerful, 
complacent,  well-to-do  people,  seemed  to  touch  his  life 
lightly  just  now.  As  for  social  distraction,  he  found 
that  in  his  present  state  of  mind  it  didn't  distract,  it  only 
worried  and  wearied  him. 

His  family  connections  never  suggested  themselves  to 
him  as  a  possible  resource ;  they  weren't  that  kind  of  con- 
nections. But  in  these  days  that  were  so  difficult  at 
their  best,  Jim  did  his  duty  by  going  to  see  first  one  and 
then  another  of  his  brothers. 

The  preoccupied  eldest  took  a  hurried  paternal  inter- 
est in  Jim;  he  meant  always  to  keep  an  eye  upon  the 
youngster,  but  in  the  pressure  of  his  own  concerns  he 
never  seemed  to  find  the  opportunity.  His  wife  would 
have  been  delighted  at  any  time  to  help  Jim  to  make  a 
suitable  match;  she  bore  him  no  grudge,  even  after  all 
these  years  wherein  he  had  smilingly  evaded  her  efforts. 
They  were  good  souls,  both  of  them.  Jim  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  their  front  door  closed  behind  him;  and 
he  could  imagine  that  within  they  were  doing  the  same. 

The  second  brother — it  happened  that  Jim  visited  them 


186  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

in  the  order  of  their  seniority — was  the  one  against 
whom  Jim  had  had  to  wage  the  sternest  conflict  when  he 
determined  not  to  enter  the  family  office.  He  was  a 
tight-lipped  inimical  man.  His  wife  Jim  briefly  de- 
scribed as  a  cat.  It  was  only  when  he  looked  at  her  that 
Jim  ever  felt  any  sympathy  for  Sydney. 

The  third  brother  and  his  wife  didn't  get  on,  never  had 
got  on,  had  always  at  intervals  been  causing  agitated 
ripples  in  the  Whittaker  family  circle  by  threats  of  open 
rupture.  Jim  wondered  in  passing  if  he  and  Zoe,  sup- 
posing them  to  have  married  and  lived  to  regret  their 
marriage,  could  ever  have  come  to  such  a  state.  Even 
with  his  present  view  of  Zoe's  limitations,  Jim  didn't 
think  that  they  could. 

At  the  close  of  this  visit  Jim  went  back  with  relief  to 
his  own  quiet  flat;  the  worst  of  his  own  miseries  was 
better  than  the  sordidness  he  had  seen.  Now  he  could 
shut  himself  in  with  his  unhappiness,  and  grouch;  and 
emerge  some  day  an  old  bachelor,  with  a  soured  dispo- 
sition, perhaps,  but  an  equanimous  front. 

Yet  there  were  two  people  he  still  wished  to  see.  He 
couldn't  indeed  rest  until  he  had  seen  them;  yet  he 
dreaded  the  meeting.  They  were  Stuart  and  June  Eving- 
ton,  that  domesticated  couple  without  whose  defection  at 
a  critical  moment  this  present  state  of  things  would  never 
have  come  to  pass.  To  Jim  in  his  loneliness  their  hos- 
pitable house  beckoned;  yet  he  hesitated  to  enter  those 
doors  which  had  always  opened  so  freely  before  him. 
He  hesitated  because  he  feared  that  the  whole  lovely 
place  might  recall  Zoe  too  vividly  to  his  mind.  He  had 
been  there  a  thousand  times  before  he  ever  heard  of  Zoe ; 
yet  the  few  days  there  which  she  had  dominated  might 
efface  the  recollection  of  his  many  peaceful  visits.  He 
wanted  exactly  what  those  earlier  visits  had  always  given 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     187 

him,  wanted  it  acutely  where  he  had  once  welcomed  it 
vaguely :  he  wanted  peace  and  warmth,  and  respite  from 
his  Furies.  But  if  he  sought  these  things  at  the  Eving- 
tons',  he  might  simply  be  putting  on  the  screws. 

From  day  to  day  Jim  put  off  seeing  the  Evingtons, 
until  at  length  he  realised  that  his  nervous  dread  was 
making  him  ridiculous  in  his  own  eyes.  Then  he  tele- 
phoned to  Stuart  Evington. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  call  me,"  Stuart's  voice 
informed  him.  "I  heard  that  you  were  back.  Did  you 
enjoy  yourself?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Jim  with  a  sick  heartiness. 

"When  are  you  coming  out  to  see  us?"  asked  Stuart. 

"When  can  you  have  me?" 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  declared  Stuart.  "June  will 
be  anxious  to  see  you,  I  know.  How  about  to-night?" 

"To-night  will  do,"  said  Jim.  "That  is,  if  I  may 
come  on  the  six  o'clock."' 

"Well,  if  you  can't  come  earlier — I'll  have  the  car  at 
the  station  to  meet  you.  Or  no — I'll  wait  and  take  the 
six  o'clock  too." 

"Don't,"  said  Jim  smiling.  "That  would  be  to  make 
company  of  me.  I  thought  that  yours  was  a  house  where 
I  might  always  be  treated  with  nonchalance." 

"Oh,  very  well.  We  shall  be  looking  for  you,"  said 
Stuart. 

The  car  was  indeed  waiting  for  Jim  when  he  de- 
scended from  the  train;  and  the  Evingtons'  chauffeur 
gave  him  a  friendly  grin.  Jim  jumped  briskly  in  beside 
the  man  and  grinned  back.  "It  seems  good  to  be  home 
again,"  he  said  gaily.  "How  is  every  one  back  at  the 
house?" 

Every  one  was  well,  it  appeared;  and  the  chauffeur, 
having  assured  Jim  of  that,  began  to  babble  about  cars. 


188  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Jim  announced  that  he  himself  planned  to  buy  a  new  car 
in  the  spring;  what  kind  would  the  chauffeur  advise? 
The  chauffeur  advised  copiously,  all  the  way  to  the  house. 
He  and  his  brethren  were  a  race  apart,  Jim  reflected,  not 
servants,  certainly,  though  hired  as  servants  are.  The 
Evingtons'  chauffeur  talked  to  Jim  as  man  to  man;  he 
showed  him  respect  enough,  but  it  was  not  the  respect  of 
the  hireling.  It  was  that  of  the  expert  for  the  amateur 
who  knows  almost  as  much  about  a  science  as  himself, 
and  yet  beautifully  asks  his  expert  advice. 

To  the  accompaniment  of  talk  about  cars  the  familiar 
country  sped  by;  the  keen  air  of  autumn  dusk  fanned 
their  faces.  Nothing  was  changed,  except  that  the  year 
had  progressed  to  its  fall.  Already  Jim  began  to  feel 
cheered.  Nothing  in  the  world  had  changed  except  him- 
self ;  and  in  view  of  that  fact,  and  of  the  exquisite  nor- 
mality manifested  all  about  him,  Jim  couldn't  continue 
to  believe  that  his  own  relation  to  everything  was  chaoti- 
cally and  tragically  altered. 

Everything  that  touched  him  to-night  seemed  to  be 
simple  and  sweet.  Stuart  and  June  both  came  into  the 
hall  to  meet  him;  both  their  faces  were  joyously  alight 
at  his  coming.  "So  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  old  man," 
muttered  Stuart,  wringing  his  hand. 

June  gave  him  both  hers.  "It  has  been  such  a  long 
time  since  we  saw  you  last,"  she  said,  her  pretty  face 
eager  with  welcome.  "We  have  spoken  of  you  so  much." 

"We  wondered  if  we  were  ever  going  to  see  you 
again,"  Stuart  took  up  the  refrain.  "Our  household  has 
fairly  seemed  incomplete  these  last  few  months,  hasn't 
it,  June?" 

Jim  finally  managed  to  get  away  to  dress ;  as  he  did  so 
he  realised  that  his  heart  was  warmer  than  it  had  been 
for  many  a  day.  Was  this  conceivably  what  he  had  been 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     189 

dreading  ?  Why,  a  ghost  couldn't  live  in  the  atmosphere 
of  these  blessed  people;  and  as  for  any  sneaking  suspi- 
cion Jim  might  have  had  that  his  friends  would  either  spy 
or  censure — well,  it  just  wasn't  so.  Stuart  and  June 
Evington  couldn't  even  be  made  to  stand  as  representa- 
tives of  a  spying,  censuring  world.  All  they  wanted  of 
a  fellow — of  this  particular  fellow,  at  any  rate — was  to 
be  good  to  him ;  and  they  didn't  even  consciously  set  out 
to  do  that.  Their  richly  appreciated  goodness  was  quite 
spontaneous. 

On  the  stairs,  as  Jim  descended,  he  found  June  in  wait 
for  him.  She  asked  if  he  would  like  to  see  the  children 
put  to  bed ;  she  enacted  that  never  to  be  omitted  part  of 
their  old  program  with  just  her  old  air  of  doing  it  for 
the  first  time.  And  when  Jim  assented,  she  smiled  as  if 
his  words  were  a  delightful  surprise. 

He  followed  her  trailing  draperies  down  the  hall  to  the 
night  nursery.  The  children  were  already  in  bed,  the 
whole  quiverful  of  them ;  the  baby  indeed  had  been  asleep 
for  two  hours,  and  the  next  to  the  smallest  had  dozed  off 
as  he  awaited  the  good-night  kiss.  The  elder  two,  how- 
ever, could  scarcely  have  gone  to  sleep  without  it;  and 
not  to  be  there  to  bestow  it  would  have  seemed  to  June 
a  breach  of  trust. 

"Stuart  has  already  been  in  here,"  June  explained.  "I 
was  waiting  for  you." 

Jim  followed  her  as  she  went  from  bed  to  bed,  four  of 
them,  if  you  counted  the  baby's.  Over  each  she  stooped, 
tender,  soft-eyed,  maternal;  every  time  that  she  stooped 
her  gown  draped  itself  anew,  and  her  pearls  swung  for- 
ward softly,  and  then  fell  back  on  her  neck  as  she  straight- 
ened up.  June's  pearls  were  fine ;  the  single  short  string, 
which  brown  natives  had  somewhere  dived  and  perhaps 
drowned  to  collect,  had  cost  a  comfortable  fortune.  But 


190  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

on  June  they  were  not  a  sign  of  costliness  or  emblem  of 
magnificence;  subdued  like  everything  else  about  her  to 
her  own  kindness  and  innocence,  they  swung  softly  from 
her  round  neck  against  the  cheeks  of  her  children. 

As  June  stooped  for  the  last  time,  the  familiar  scene 
connected  itself  with  that  underlying  stratum  in  Jim's 
mind  which  he  had  supposed  it  was  making  him  forget. 
What,  he  wondered  suddenly,  if  Zoe  should  ever  have  a 
child?  For  a  moment  the  picture  was  present  visually 
before  him :  Zoe  standing  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  Zoe 
laying  her  cheek  against  the  top  of  her  baby's  head.  By 
God,  if  that  had  happened — !  His  blood  was  all  driven 
back  to  Jim's  heart  at  the  thought. 

If  June  had  turned  to  him  just  then  she  would  have 
surprised  something  that  she  hadn't  known  was  in  her 
friend  Jim;  perhaps  she  would  never  again  have  asked 
him  to  visit  her  peaceful  nursery.  But  June's  eldest 
child  held  her  in  speech  for  a  moment;  and  when  she 
turned  back  to  Jim  it  was  to  indicate  that  the  ceremony 
of  good-night  was  over. 

"Edith  is  to  have  a  room  of  her  own  next  year,"  June 
confided  to  him  when  they  were  in  the  hall  once  more. 
"That  makes  me  feel  like  an  old  woman,  Jim.  So  long 
as  they  were  all  in  the  nursery  together " 

"An  old  woman — you  ?"  exclaimed  Jim. 

"An  old  woman,"  she  nodded.  "See!"  She  pointed 
to  where  in  the  hall  below  the  top  of  Stuart's  head  was 
visible ;  their  vantage  ground  of  the  stairs  commanded  a 
view  of  his  increasing  baldness.  At  this  sign  of  age,  if 
not  on  June's  part,  at  any  rate  on  that  of  June's  lesser 
half,  she  and  Jim  giggled  like  two  naughty  children;  so 
giggling  they  descended  upon  Stuart. 

It  was  a  very  gay  little  dinner,  served  to  the  three  of 
them  at  a  small  round  table  lighted  with  many  unshaded 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     191 

candles.  "A  table  like  a  birthday  cake"  was  June's  de- 
clared ideal;  and  when  they  were  alone  she  and  Stuart 
dined  always  in  this  wax-lit  state.  They  admitted  Jim 
to  their  candle  orgies  as  they  did  to  their  nursery ;  he  was 
their  best  of  friends,  and  even  their  private  inanities 
would  never  bore  him. 

The  conversation  about  the  table  was  animated  enough. 
Jim  insisted  from  the  beginning  on  being  listener  rather 
than  talker;  they  wouldn't  be  interested,  he  averred,  in 
his  impressions  of  South  America,  and  he  was  very 
much  interested  in  hearing  all  the  gossip  about  their 
common  friends. 

"You  decided  to  go  on  to  South  America  when  Stuart 
and  I  were  forced  to  desert  Miss  Lenox?"  June  wanted 
to  know. 

"Yes.  I  had  my  mouth  made  up  for  South  America, 
and  my  arrangements  already  made  for  a  holiday," 
answered  Jim. 

"I'm  so  glad  that  you  did,"  said  June.  "Then  you  at 
least  weren't  disappointed." 

"What  was  the  trouble  with  the  children  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"Measles,"  said  June  tragically.  "A  run  of  measles — 
straight — through — the  family." 

"They  all  recovered  perfectly?"  asked  Jim. 

"Perfectly.     But  it  was  a  siege." 

All  the  Evington  children  had  had  time  to  have  measles 
and  recover  while  he  was  away;  well,  Jim  could  believe 
that.  He  tried  to  think  of  another  question  that  would 
keep  June  on  the  subject  of  the  children;  but  Stuart 
struck  in,  "Probably  you  were  better  off  to  go  as  you  did, 
Jim,  than  as  you  had  planned  in  the  first  place.  Some 
of  those  steamers  are  very  comfortable,  and  you  haven't 
to  reckon  with  a  yacht-owner's  caprice." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.    I  can't  imagine  that  I  could 


192  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

have  had  a  more  interesting  time  than  I  did,"  said  Jim 
promptly. 

"The  steamers  are  good?"  Stuart  asked.  He  asked  it 
simply  enough,  but  it  seemed  to  his  friend  that  for  just  a 
moment  he  looked  rather  hard  at  him. 

"Very  good,"  answered  Jim,  and  gave  a  few  particu- 
lars about  the  one  in  which  he  had  come  north. 

"Then  the  only  regret,"  remarked  Evington,  "the  only 
regret  we  have  among  us,  is  a  little  one  of  mine." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Jim. 

"Simply  that  I  hadn't  a  chance  to  complete  my  picture 
of  Zoe  Lenox  by  viewing  her  on  her  native  heath." 

June  laughed.  "If  your  curiosity  has  had  to  go  un- 
satisfied, Stuart,  I  wonder  that  you  survive  the  disap- 
pointment," she  said. 

Stuart  grinned  back  at  her.  "Speaking  of  curiosity," 
he  began,  "Allen  Camp  told  me  the  other  day " 

The  stream  of  their  gay  gossip  ran  on,  with  but  oc- 
casional comments  from  Jim.  Stuart  Evington  and  June 
told  things  in  a  sort  of  antiphony,  one  supplying  what 
the  other  forgot  or  neglected :  it  was  usually,  Jim  found, 
June  who  gave  the  kindly  turns,  and  Stuart  who  put  in 
the  racy  touches. 

It  was  all  deliciously  warm  and  human  and  friendly. 
Presently  Jim  realised  with  a  start  that  he  had  for  min- 
utes together  lost  his  awkward  new  consciousness:  the 
strange  woman  and  her  influence  had  dropped  completely 
from  his  mind.  For  weeks  before  they  had  never  been 
actually  absent  from  that  tortured  mind,  even  at  its  mo- 
ments of  comparative  peace.  Perhaps  this  momentary 
lull  was  an  intimation  that  he  might  soon  be  again  as 
other  men  were,  as  he  himself  had  once  been,  and  not  so 
long  ago  either.  At  the  very  idea  Jim  felt  free,  felt 
rested.  He  saw  himself  reconciled  to  life,  in  the  very 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     193 

place  where  he  had  dreaded  to  come  for  fear  he  might 
be  farther  alienated.  But  here  he  was  back  in  the  warm 
current  of  human  life,  back  with  dear  average  human 
people. 

Once  during  the  evening,  indeed,  June's  face  clouded ; 
but  it  was  with  a  farther  proof  of  her  humanity.  She 
had  been  gossiping  brightly  about  people  and  things,  and 
politics  and  plays  and  books — June  always  gave  a  gos- 
sipy personal  turn  to  every  subject  she  discussed.  Sud- 
denly she  paused,  looked  troubled,  and  said,  "There  has 
been  a  flare-up  in  the  house  of  one  of  our  friends  while 
you  were  away,  Jim.  Perhaps  you  haven't  heard " 

"I  haven't  heard  much,"  Jim  assured  her.  "Who  is 
it?" 

"Jessica  Drummond.  You  haven't " 

"I  haven't  heard  about  it,"  Jim  assured  her.  "I've  been 
pretty  busy  since  I  got  back  to  this  country;  and  my  or- 
bit and  the  Drummonds'  don't  cross  anyway.  This  is  the 
only  place  I  ever  met  them." 

"Well,  you  won't  be  likely  to  meet  the  two  of  them  at 
the  same  place  any  more,"  struck  in  Stuart. 

"Oh— h— h!    They've  quit?" 

"She  has,"  June  assured  him. 

"That's  rather  unexpected,"  said  Jim.  "The  two  of 
them  were  here  the  last  time  I  was  here  for  a  week-end, 
weren't  they,  June?" 

"Yes ;  and  they  seemed  as  far  as  ever  from  a  break-up. 
No  one  ever  thought  that  they  were  happy  together, 
but " 

"It  seems  to  me,  as  I  recall  her,"  said  Jim,  "that  Jes- 
sica Drummond  had  always  a  sort  of  amused  tolerance 
for  Sam  and  his  peccadillos.  I  should  have  said  that 
as  a  modus  vivendi  it  was  serviceable,  and  as  likely  to 
endure  as  any  other." 


194  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"I  thought  so  too/'  said  June.  "I  must  admit  that  I 
hated  her  attitude,  but  I  never  actually  expected  to  see  it 
change." 

'"And  she  has  left  him  ?'"  asked  Jim. 

"And  plans  to  divorce  him,"  replied  Evington. 

"Has  he  done  something  particularly  fearful?"  asked 
Jim. 

"Sam  Drummond?  No,  he  hasn't  mind  enough  to 
do  anything  particularly  fearful.  This  is  just  more  of  the 
same,"  said  Evington.  "It's  Jessica  that  something  seems 
to  have  happened  to,  but  I  don't  know  what.  I  must 
confess  I  rather  admire  her  for  getting  her  back  up." 

"Poor  thing !  Imagine  being  forced  to  make  a  decision 
like  that,"  sighed  June. 

"Poor  thing  all  you  like;  but  I  wonder  just  what  has 
influenced  her  to  act  so,"  remarked  her  husband.  And 
for  the  second  time  that  evening,  Jim  fancied  that  his 
host's  eyes  rested  passingly  but  shrewdly  on  his  own  face. 
But  a  moment  later  he  set  down  his  impression  to  a  too 
irritable  vanity,  for  with  the  remark,  "Poor  Jessica !  She 
would  have  made  a  nice  wife  for 'some  good  fellow,  if 
he  had  got  her  years  ago,"  Stuart  let  the  subject  drop. 
And  about  the  glowing  table  the  atmosphere  was  once 
more  as  bland  and  soothing  as  a  bath  of  warm  milk. 

Afterward  over  the  library  fire  they  were  not  so  talka- 
tive; but  their  content  sank  deeper  into  them  by  reason 
of  their  silence.  June  was  a  centre  of  content,  wise  and 
fortunate  woman;  and  Stuart  was  contented  because  he 
had  her.  To-night  they  were  both  happy  because  Jim 
was  once  more  with  them;  and  Jim  knew  himself  for 
thrice  blessed  because  he  had  such  friends  to  take  him 
into  their  home  and  heart. 

They  sat  late  over  the  library  fire ;  but  the  hour  did  not 
keep  Stuart  from  calling  after  Jim  as  he  started  up  the 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     195 

stairs,  "Come  into  my  room  for  a  crack,  if  you're  not 
too  tired." 

Jim  nodded,  looking  gratefully  and  appreciatively 
down  on  them  as  they  stood  together  in  the  hall:  keen- 
eyed  mordant  middle-aged  Stuart,  gracious  radiant  ever- 
young  June,  these  friends  who  had  restored  him  to  his 
balance. 

In  his  own  room  Jim  got  into  his  smoking  jacket  and 
slippers,  and  stretched  luxuriously.  He  wouldn't  for 
the  world  have  missed  his  promised  talk  with  Stuart ;  his 
spirit  looked  eagerly  forward  to  that  rambling  seasoned 
talk.  He  wasn't  in  the  least  sleepy;  if  he  had  been,  it 
wouldn't  have  mattered.  It  would  take,  he  felt,  some- 
thing more  powerful  than  sleep  to  keep  him  from  one  of 
Stuart's  Attic  nights. 

There  was  no  hurry,  however,  about  beginning.  It 
would  be  half-an-hour,  probably,  before  Stuart  was  es- 
tablished for  one  of  his  late  sessions.  Jim  could  use 
that  half-hour  to  good  advantage  in  savouring  his  pres- 
ent content :  it  was  some  time  since  he  had  had  a  sensa- 
tion that  he  cared  to  savour.  He  opened  a  window  and 
leaned  on  the  sill,  drinking  in  the  crisp  air  of  the  autumn 
evening.  An  air  sane,  chill  and  bracing:  an  air  to  ban- 
ish cobwebs  from  the  brain,  and  make  a  man  stand  up  to 
his  full  manly  stature.  Only  Jim  hadn't  any  longer  any 
cobwebs ;  and  as  he  leaned  there  in  the  window  he  felt  as 
clear  and  strong  and  peaceful  as  the  November  air  it- 
self. 

The  land  before  him,  bathed  in  starlight,  rose  gently 
toward  the  bluff;  from  his  vantage  point  of  the  second 
story  Jim  caught  glimpses  of  the  water  beyond.  He 
leaned  on  the  sill,  and  gazed.  Silly  vagrant  things  came 
into  his  head,  snatches  of  poetry,  old  aspirations  and 
dreams,  memories  of  his  boyhood,  all  blended  to  one  hue 


196  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

with  the  pale  gold  of  the  night.  He  was  not  only  happy 
— he  had  been  happy  before,  happier  than  this.  But 
to-night  and  now  he  seemed  to  have  got  somehow  at  the 
spirit  of  things;  and  the  spirit  of  things  was  good,  was 
golden,  was  wonderful,  and  would  abide  with  him. 

Then  as  he  lingered,  to  make  the  impression  durably 
his,  without  warning  Zoe  seemed  to  stand  beside  him, 
leaning  lightly  against  him  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
just  as  she  had  stood  so  many  times  under  other  stars. 
So  sudden  and  so  powerful  was  the  impression  that  Jim 
actually  looked  around,  wildly  expecting  to  meet  her  eyes, 
or  at  least  to  see  her  gaze  thoughtfully  averted,  under 
the  crown  of  her  magnificent  hair. 

The  room  was  empty  except  for  his  own  presence ;  it 
lay  beneath  its  shaded  lights  in  midnight  tranquillity.  And 
it  came  over  Jim  with  sickening  vividness  that  never 
again  would  he  and  Zoe  stand  as  he  had  just  now  imag- 
ined that  they  were  standing:  never  again,  under  these 
stars  or  the  southern,  would  that  strong  hand  fall  lightly 
on  his  shoulder,  that  splendid  head  incline  toward  him. 
And  never,  never,  would  he  be  able  to  free  himself  from 
the  bondage  of  what  had  happened,  or  forget  what  might 
have.  All  the  rest  of  his  life,  he  would  embrace  empty 
air ;  until  he  was  an  old,  old  man,  he  would  unceasingly 
follow  a  shadow. 

Jim's  head  fell  forward  on  his  extended  arms.  The 
autumn  air  seemed  to  have  turned  inimical ;  it  chilled  him 
as  he  sat.  But  he  was  unwilling  to  move  from  the  place 
of  his  visitation;  and  anyhow  there  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  move,,  for  he  couldn't  face  human  society  again 
that  night.  Even  Stuart,  who  had  helped  to  bring  him 
peace  that  evening,  was  more  than  he  could  now  con- 
front. 

Jim's  appointment   for  a  "crack"  with   Stuart  was 


JIM  WHITTAKER'S  FRIENDS  AT  HOME     197 

broken;  and  Jim  never  tried  to  explain  the  breach.  He 
was  tied  to  Stuart  in  so  many  ways ;  and  even  as  a  mat- 
ter of  policy,  he  ought  certainly  to  keep  Stuart  from 
thinking  too  much  about  some  things,  ought  as  far  as 
possible  to  act  like  his  own  old  self.  But  how  could  he 
spare  a  thought  for  a  world  of  Stuarts,  when  he  was 
brought  thus  hideously  against  the  thing  that  mattered? 
The  thing  that  mattered — the  only  thing  that  mattered. 
In  his  whole  normal,  sane,  full  life,  the  thing  that  had 
had  power  to  lift  him  above  his  own  normality,  and  that 
now  sank  him  in  misery  and  abasement;  the  incredible 
fact,  the  sole  significant  fact,  that  Zoe  Lenox  had  once 
lain  in  his  arms,  and  would  lie  there  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FROM    OLYMPUS 


JIM  never  again  experienced  that  factitious  sense  of 
freedom  which  he  had  had  at  the  Evingtons'  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  he  never  again  went  through  quite  such  a 
crisis  of  abasement  as  he  had  known  later  the  same  eve- 
ning. The  winter  passed  for  him  in  a  sort  of  grey  misti- 
ness, varied  by  occasional  bursts  of  restlessness  and  long- 
ing. He  learned  to  live  with  his  love,  and  with  his  dis- 
appointment ;  and  he  learned  something  else  as  well. 

He  had  called  Zoe,  in  the  early  days  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, an  "Olympian,"  and  the  term  certainly  fitted  one 
aspect  of  her.  What  he  had  not  in  those  days  realised 
was  that  he  himself  was  almost  equally  an  Olympian.  He 
had  no  such  god-like  physique  or  magnificent  setting  or 
storied  background  as  set  his  friend  off;  but  it  is  not  in 
these  things  that  the  essence  of  the  Olympian  character 
lies.  It  lies  in  having  your  head  in  the  clouds,  in  viewing 
from  the  standpoint  of  your  own  superiority  the  pitiful, 
ridiculous  struggles  and  sufferings  of  humanity;  it  lies 
in  living  carefully  in  your  ideas,  and  in  seeing  that  you 
get  those  ideas  decently  second-hand,  and  that  they  do 
not  connect  themselves  too  greedily  to  the  experience 
from  which  they  may  be  derived.  It  may  be  known  by 
its  characteristic  calm. 

That  calm  Jim  Whittaker  had  forever  lost  ;  but  as  he 
saw  it,  it  was  nothing  to  regret.  It  wasn't  the  strength 
of  a  conqueror;  it  was  simply  the  carefully  erected  and 

198 


DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  199 

constantly  tended  tranquillity  of  a  hanger-back.  A  hang- 
er-back— that  was  what  he  had  once  been.  A  hanger- 
back,  Zoe  was  still. 

Now  at  last  Jim  Whittaker  was  on  earth  with  common 
men ;  he  knew  it,  and  rejoiced  in  it.  With  common  men, 
who  suffered  and  laboured  and  sweated;  common  men, 
who  lived  not  by  their  ideas,  those  charmingly  eclectic 
ideas  which  were  the  motor-springs  of  the  Olympians,  but 
by  something  black  and  biting  and  fierce  that  was  in  them. 
Down  in  the  dust  with  common  men,  although  he  might 
sweat  and  choke  and  sicken,  Jim  was  learning  what  he 
had  never  learned  on  his  calm  Olympian  heights. 

Common  men,  indeed,  if  they  could  have  spared  a 
thought  from  their  own  concerns,  might  have  been  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  Jim  Whittaker  was  living  down 
among  them.  He  had  apparently  slipped  back  without 
delay  and  without  friction  into  just  the  niche  in  life  that 
he  left  when  he  went  cruising  in  the  Helga.  He  was  still 
attentive  to  his  excellent  business,  and  deeply  interested 
in  its  success;  he  still  read  solidly  and  critically;  he  still 
mingled  with  his  intimates  freely  enough,  especially  on 
those  occasions  when  he  wouldn't  have  to  meet  too  many 
women.  If  his  acquaintances  noticed  a  change  in  him, 
it  was  simply  that  he  seemed  graver,  and  had  grown  thin, 
and  had  got  into  the  habit  of  saying  queer  things.  But 
then  Jim  was  always  a  bit  queer;  and  perhaps  now  he 
had  taken  up  socialism  or  some  such  matter  to  beguile 
his  leisure.  Anyhow,  socialism  or  any  such  matter  wasn't 
worth  noticing  in  the  case  of  such  a  thoroughly  good 
fellow. 

Actually,  however,  though  it  might  not  be  patent  to 
the  common,  still  less  to  the  Olympian  eye,  Jim's  entire 
range  of  vision  had  changed.  Things  that  had  once 
bulked  large  for  him  were  important  no  more,  though 


200  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

he  knew  in  a  vague  way  that  they  were  still  there ;  things 
and  people  that  he  had  never  before  noticed  now  during 
this  winter  became  significant. 

Once  the  world  had  been  peopled  with  two  fairly  def- 
inite classes — yes,  fairly  definite,  even  if  one  wasn't  a 
snob.  There  were  the  full-fed,  self-satisfied  people,  one's 
intimates ;  and  there  were  less  full-fed  people,  for  whom 
one  had  a  facile  sympathy.  But  now  the  two  circles  ran 
strangely  together:  Olympians  appeared  in  botH,  and  in 
both  Jim  saw  his  suffering  common  people,  and  poor 
pathetic  frustrated  people;  and  all  these  latter  had  be- 
come by  the  turn  of  a  wheel  Jim's  own  people. 

There  were  old  maids,  for  instance.  In  Jim's  own 
circle  they  were  well  enough  disguised ;  and  in  the  Olym- 
pian days  Jim  would  have  held  that  present-day  civilisa- 
tion offers  no  nook  for  such  as  they.  But  he  saw  them 
now,  even  through  the  disguises  offered  them  by  mod- 
ern life,  not  the  least  of  which  are  our  countless  "move- 
ments." He  saw  them  for  poor  frustrated  creatures, 
some  of  whom  have  held  out  for  too  high  an  ideal,  some 
of  whom  have  simply  been  passed  over;  in  both  cases 
they  seemed  to  him  at  bottom  dim  beings  who  had  missed 
whatever  in  the  world  was  songful  or  colourful  or  pur- 
poseful. 

Then  there  were  the  weary  fathers  of  families,  drudg- 
ing their  lives  away  for  offspring  who  didn't  realise  and 
didn't  care  to  realise  what  the  drudgery  meant.  In  most 
cases  the  fathers  themselves  didn't  realise  what  it  meant ; 
they  figured  in  a  plan  of  which  they  had  only  the  dimmest 
conception,  for  whose  perhaps  mighty  workings  they  felt 
not  the  slightest  thrill.  And  there  were  women  who 
ought  to  be  mothers  but  weren't ;  and  others  who  oughtn't 
to  be  but  were.  Beneath  the  clatter  and  glitter,  the  fine 
brave  show  of  the  great  city  where  he  lived,  beneath  even 


DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  201 

the  brave  pose  of  the  circle  of  people  he  knew  best,  Jim 
saw  the  weary  face  of  humanity.  The  marvel  was  per- 
haps that  he  hadn't  seen  it  all  along.  And  yet  the  marvel 
wasn't  so  great,  after  all;  many  people  lived  their  lives 
and  begat  another  generation  and  died  without  ever  hav- 
ing seen  it.  His  present  perception  was,  quite  incongru- 
ously, his  golden  Zoe's  gift  to  him. 

He  had  gone,  one  day  in  early  spring,  into  the  city's 
great  art  museum.  The  greyness  of  his  days  had  been 
broken  this  particular  afternoon  by  a  mood  of  horrible 
unrest,  one  of  those  hours  when  he  would  without  sec- 
ond thought  have  ground  the  recently  perceived  face  of 
humanity  into  the  dust,  if  by  striding  across  it  he  could 
gain  one  actual  sight  of  a  certain  Olympian  face  now  for- 
ever lost  to  him.  In  such  a  mood  as  this  the  company  of 
the  masters  was  sometimes  soothing;  and  at  least  he  ran 
in  this  particular  place  very  little  risk  of  meeting  any 
one  he  personally  knew. 

A  personal  acquaintance  was,  however,  exactly  what 
he  finally  met.  He  had  gravitated  toward  the  Rodin  gal- 
lery, and  was  looking  with  a  kind  of,  bitter  satisfaction 
at  the  ruthless  presentation  of  the  old  courtesan.  If  you 
were  an  artist,  he  supposed,  you  always  saw  things  with 
the  mask  off;  only  if  you  were  an  artist  you  probably 
loved  to  see  them  so,  instead  of  writhing  at  their  ugli- 
ness. But  this  particular  statue  cannot  continue  before 
the  Anglo-Saxon  eye  indefinitely  without  outraging  the 
Anglo-Saxon  sensibilities;  and  Jim  was  beginning  to  be 
rather  ashamed  of  himself  as  he  turned  away.  Many 
things  were  so,  but  it  was  cruel  to  insist  upon  them.  He 
began  to  drift  down  the  gallery. 

And  there,  lost  in  gazing  at  another  piece  of  the  same 
artist's  work,  stood  Jessica  Drummond.  To  find  Jessica 
in  the  Metropolitan  was  alone  worthy  of  note ;  but  Jim's 


202  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

surprise  in  the  bare  fact  was  swallowed  by  blank 
amazement  when  he  caught  sight  of  her  expression.  She 
was  standing  before  the  "Orpheus  and  Eurydice";  and 
in  her  little  gipsy  face,  in  the  very  pose  she  had  un- 
consciously taken,  were  echoed  the  infinite  learning  and 
the  overhanging  frustration  of  the  statue. 

Jim's  first  impulse  was  to  go  on,  pretending  that  he 
had  not  seen  her.  He  hadn't  happened  to  meet  Jessica 
all  that  winter,  and  had  rather  been  hoping  for  some 
such  opportunity  as  this  to  let  her  see — well,  to  let  her  see 
that  he  too  knew  what  it  was  to  be  no  longer  among  the 
Olympians.  But  to  speak  to  her  as  she  was  now  was  to 
take  her  with  her  mask  off ;  even  to  one  but  newly  eman- 
cipated from  the  Olympian  view-point,  it  seemed  scarcely 
decent. 

He  hesitated  too  long,  however;  Jessica  felt  his  gaze, 
and  turned.  In  an  instant  her  mask  snapped  back  into 
place;  and  it  was  with  much  of  her  old  saucy  smile  that 
she  greeted  him.  "It's  wonderful  to  see  you !"  she  cried, 
her  eyes  beginning  to  sparkle.  "Have  you  been  in  town 
all  this  winter?  Whatever  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself?  Are  you  thin,  or  do  I  imagine  it?" 

"Such  a  volley  of  questions!"  he  commented,  grasping 
her  outstretched  hand.  They  had  both  ungloved,  and 
her  hand  in  his  was  warm  and  nervous,  and  quite  dread- 
fully alive.  "Yes,  I  am  thinner,  and  hence  more  fash- 
ionable. I  have  been  in  town  all  the  winter,  and  have 
been  doing  just  the  usual  things.  Where  are  you  living 
now?" 

'"Oh,  I  have  a  small  apartment,"  she  said  vaguely. 

Hastening  to  change  the  subject,  Jim  could  think  of 
nothing  better  to  say  than,  "This  is  a  strange  place  to 
find  you,  Jessica." 

Apparently  however  she  didn't  care  whether  or  not 


DESJCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  203 

they  avoided  the  subject  of  her  changed  life.  "I  come 
here  quite  often  now,"  she  said.  "It's  quiet — and  cheap." 
Then  she  laughed,  and  added,  "And  I'm  beginning  ac- 
tually to  know  what  I'm  looking  at.  Have  you  seen 
those  new  Chinese  porcelains  that  are  being  so  much  dis- 
cussed ?" 

"No.    Where  are  they  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"I'll  show  you,"  she  volunteered. 

They  left  the  little  gallery,  and  mounted  the  main 
stair-case.  Jessica  went  unhesitatingly  to  the  small  sec- 
ond-floor gallery  where  the  porcelains  in  question  were 
displayed.  "This  one — "  she  began  to  explain,  "and  this 
one — and  this  one " 

And  then  again  she  didn't  seem  to  care  to  avoid  what 
must  be  a  painful  subject.  Suddenly  she  stopped  point- 
ing, and  turned  toward  Jim.  "You  know,"  she  asked, 
"that  I've  left  Sam?" 

Jim  nodded.  Jessica  wasn't  looking  exactly  at  him,  but 
he  was  sure  that  she  saw  the  nod.  "Yes,"  she  continued 
meditatively,  "I've  left  him.  In  fact,  I  have  divorced 
him;  you  have  probably  heard  that  too.  I  am  now  a 
femme  seule,  and  shall  doubtless  become  a  great  fre- 
quenter of  museums." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Jim.  "You  will  let  me  sayy  won't 
you,  how  sorry  I  am?  You  must  have  had  a  very  bad 
time." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed !  I  haven't  had  half  such  a  bad  time," 
she  said  with  a  flicker  of  a  smile,  "as  poor  old  Sam  has 
had.  I  don't  think  that  to  his  dying  day  Sam  will  ever 
see  what  the  smash  was  all  about.  He  had  always  con- 
sidered me  an  essentially  reasonable  woman,  you  see." 

That  remark  was  in  its  coolness  quite  like  the  old 
Jessica ;  but  Jessica  was  not  the  same  as  of  old.  Even  if 
Jim  couldn't  feel  a  change  in  her,  he  must  know  from 


204  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

the  mere  fact  of  her  decision  that  some  change  had  taken 
place.  Her  decision  set  her  as  oddly  as  a  nun's  head- 
dress a  gipsy;  but  its  very  oddity  made  Jim  find  it 
touching.  For  the  first  time  in  a  pleasure-loving  life, 
tolerant  always  in  the  wrong  places,  Jessica  had  deliber- 
ately made  a  decision  that  would  cost  her  something. 

Jim  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it ;  he  remembered  aft- 
erward that  as  it  lay  in  his  it  suddenly  went  cold.  "I 
want  to  tell  you,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "that  I  know  you're 
treading  a  hard  path  for  conscientious  reasons.  I  ap- 
preciate that;  all  your  friends  must." 

It  was  a  stiff  little  speech,  made  with  obvious  good 
intention;  Jim  wasn't  prepared  for  its  reception.  For 
Jessica,  looking  at  him  across  their  clasped  hands,  flushed 
crimson,  and  began  to  tremble ;  then  suddenly  she  stooped 
and  dropped  a  kiss  on  the  back  of  the  hand  that  held 
hers. 

A  moment  later  Jim  was  alone  in  the  darkening  gal- 
lery. He  stood  still,  to  let  Jessica  make  her  escape,  and 
also  because  he  was  too  dumfounded  to  move.  The  sin- 
cerity of  his  own  surprise  was  startling;  for  what  sur- 
prised him  so  had  evidently  been  more  or  less  known  to 
other  people  for  some  time.  This  was  what  had  made 
Stuart  Evington  look  at  him  so  hard  when  Jessica's  di- 
vorce was  mentioned ;  Stuart  had  divined  the  whole  thing, 
of  course.  Well,  doubtless  Stuart  would  keep  his  sus- 
picions— they  could  be  little  more  than  suspicions — to 
himself,  and  not  spread,  by  innuendo  or  otherwise,  the 
story  of  Jessica's  poor  Quixotic  little  passion. 

It  wasn't  such  a  very  little  passion,  either,  if  it  had 
driven  Jessica  to  leave  her  comfortable  nest  merely  to 
keep  her  passion  from  being  defiled.  She  had  left  with- 
out hope ;  it  was  her  hopelessness  that  had  made  natural 
and  touching  her  na'ive  expression  of  her  passion. 


DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  205 

Jim  liked  that  expression ;  it  stirred  him  curiously.  As 
he  walked  slowly  out  of  the  museum  and  started  toward 
home,  he  seemed  to  feel  Jessica's  kiss  still  on  his  hand. 
It  happened  to  be  the  same  hand  that  the  Malay  woman 
had  once  bitten;  but  there  are  some  things  we  forget  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  others  that  we  may  allow  our- 
selves to  remember. 

Would  Jessica  like  to  have  him  remember  that  im- 
pulsive kiss?  Well,  she  probably  wouldn't  like  to  have 
him  forget  it  too  soon ;  yet  she  certainly  didn't  expect  him 
to  remember  it  in  any  very  practical  way.  But  suppose — 
Jim  felt  his  breath  coming  a  little  short  as  he  sauntered 
leisurely  along — suppose  that  was  exactly  what  he  did 
do?  Zoe  had  taken  with  her  something  that  could  never 
be  replaced ;  he  could  never  feel  for  another  woman  just 
what  he  had  felt  for  her.  But  Zoe  had  gone  from  him ; 
and  he  had  the  rest  of  his  life  still  to  live.  What  better 
could  he  do  with  it  than  dedicate  it  to  a  woman  for 
whom  he  could  after  all  do  something?  If  he  could  do 
anything  for  Jessica,  it  was  more  than  he  had  ever  been 
able  to  for  Zoe. 

Of  course,  he  wasn't  in  the  least  in  love  with  Jessica. 
But  if  she  loved  him — well,  a  man  could  always  have  a 
certain  sort  of  feeling  for  a  pretty  woman.  And  if  he 
anchored  this  restless  life  of  hers,  if  he  and  she  were  to 
go  smoothly  on  side  by  side — He  couldn't  exactly  see 
that  happening;  Jessica  brought  him  no  inspiring  vision 
of  himself  mounting  to  her,  of  herself  waiting  for  him 
in  a  house  on  a  hill.  A  white  house  on  a  hill — how 
often  he  had  dreamed  of  that !  A  white  house  on  a  hill, 
and  a  white  ship — Jim's  whole  being  contracted  in  a 
spasm  of  rage  and  defeated  longing. 

And  then  came  resolution.    "I  will  not  live  forever  as 


206  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

I  am  living  now,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  will  go  to  Jes- 
sica to-morrow." 

Of  course,  Jessica  wouldn't  be  expecting  him.  It 
would  be  kinder,  perhaps,  to  wait;  but  he  wished  to  take 
her  before  she  had  had  a  chance  to  cool.  "Before  I  have 
had,"  he  knew  he  meant;  but  he  didn't  dare  to  look  the 
situation  too  eagerly  in  the  eye. 

He  hardened  in  his  resolution,  however,  as  he  walked 
along  in  the  sweet  spring  twilight.  He  did  not  go  di- 
rectly home ;  he  walked  for  a  long  time,  indeed,  not  much 
caring  whither.  He  dined  somewhere,  quite  inciden- 
tally, on  he  didn't  actually  know  what.  Then  at  length 
he  walked  home,  sure  at  least  of  having  secured  to  him- 
self, by  weary  limbs  and  an  empty  mind,  sound  sleep, 
the  portion  of  the  unharassed. 

The  bright  day  and  lovely  twilight  had  been  succeeded 
by  the  chilly  night  of  northern  springs.  The  change 
from  outer  air  to  inner  made  Jim  actually  drowsy.  If 
he  turned  in  now,  he  had  time  for  a  long  sleep :  it  was 
half-past  nine  by  his  watch.  But  Jim  didn't  turn  in. 
Instead  he  lighted  the  fire,  and  sat  smoking  over  it. 
From  moment  to  moment  he  kept  resolving  to  go  sen- 
sibly to  bed ;  from  moment  to  moment  he  put  off  going. 

He  had,  indeed,  this  past  winter  conceived  an  antipathy 
for  going  to  bed.  Time  was  when  the  bed-time  hour 
stood  as  the  climax  of  an  ordered  day:  when  a  well- 
laved  and  well-pajama'd  Jim,  stretching  himself  between 
the  cool  sheets  to  review  drowsily  the  day's  happenings, 
and  then  drifting  off  in  the  sleep  that  always  came,  knew 
the  fullest  earthly  content. 

His  bed-time  peace  was  among  the  things  that  Zoe  had 
taken.  Through  the  day  he  could  be  cheerful,  or  at 
least  busy ;  and  he  needn't  unless  he  chose  be  much  alone. 
But  in  the  quiet  of  the  night  and  the  loneliness  of  his 


DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  207 

bedroom  Zoe  everlastingly  awaited  him:  Zoe  and  the 
lack  of  her.  The  strength  that  he  had  managed  to  gain 
during  the  day,  this  hour  regularly  took  from  him. 

To-night,  however,  Zoe  seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 
When  at  length  he  did  go  to  bed,  it  was  to  meet  the  re- 
ward of  a  man  whose  mind  is  definitely  and  honourably 
made  up.  He  sank  almost  at  once  into  a  deep  sleep, 
such  a  sleep  as  even  a  healthy  man  rarely  knows :  the  pro- 
found sweet  slumber  of  childhood.  Once  he  partly  awak- 
ened, and  saw  the  curtains  blowing  in  the  wind,  white  in 
the  surrounding  dimness.  The  wind  was  cool  upon  his 
head,  the  bed  deep  and  warm  below,  about,  above  him. 
Jim  kept  hold  of  consciousness  only  long  enough  to 
realise  that  a  miracle  was  being  accomplished  for  him; 
then  he  drifted  back  into  that  wonderful  sleep. 

Suddenly  he  wasn't  asleep  any  more,  and  he  wasn't 
at  home.  He  was  alone  still,  but  he  knelt  on  the  pave- 
ment of  a  tiny  chapel.  He  recognized  the  chapel  at  once : 
it  was  the  tribute  of  wealthy  bereavement  to  its  dead, 
and  appertained  to  a  cathedral  about  which  Jim  had 
walked  with  out-of-town  friends.  But  now  he  seemed  to 
belong  there;  he  knelt  on  the  pavement,  feeling  its  chill 
through  his  clothing,  and  watched  the  tall  candles  burn 
on  the  altar.  They  were  so  tall,  and  they  burned  with  a 
steady  unflickering  flame.  They  were  so  white;  and 
there  were  white  flowers  with  them ;  and  the  little  chapel 
itself  was  white,  white,  white. 

Jim  was  waiting  for  something;  he  couldn't  have  said 
for  what,  but  he  knew  it  was  something  wonderful  and 
awesome;  he  trembled  as  he  waited.  Then  something 
came  between  him  and  the  tall  white  altar,  almost  as  if  it 
materialised  out  of  the  candle-flame  and  the  lilies.  A 
tall  white  figure,  veiled  mistily  from  head  to  foot;  Jim 
knew  it  by  the  beating  of  his  own  heart.  How  pale  she 


208  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

was,  how  exquisite !  She  came  a  little  way  forward,  and 
lifted  her  eyes.  Through  all  the  veiling  Jim  made  out 
her  features;  and  then  her  eyes  called  him,  her  eyes 
burning  blue  through  all  the  mistiness.  She  saw  him; 
she  desired  him  to  come  to  her. 

Jim  struggled  to  rise  from  the  pavement  and  go.  So 
struggling,  he  found  himself  back  in  bed.  The  wind 
blew  chill  upon  him ;  the  curtains  were  waving  now  in  the 
pale  light  of  dawn. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  summon  back  the 
dream.  Zoe  coming  to  him  like  that — !  He,  fought  his 
returning  consciousness ;  he  wanted  to  go  back  and  meet 
her.  But  consciousness  came  inexorably  back;  and  he 
found  himself  sitting  up,  broad  awake,  but  with  the  pull 
of  the  dream  still  upon  him. 

Suddenly  he  left  his  bed,  and  turned  on  the  water  for 
his  bath.  Then  he  stood  erect  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  smiled  in  high  conscious  happiness.  Zoe  would 
never  come  to  him  like  that,  perhaps ;  but  he  didn't  care 
particularly  how  she  came.  Only  he  saw  that  it  was 
time  she  did  come.  These  months  had  been  long  enough 
for  her  dignity  to  recuperate;  on  behalf  of, his  own  san- 
ity, he  didn't  care  to  have  them  stretch  out  any  longer. 

H!e  breakfasted  early,  and  went  down  to  his  office 
before  any  one  else  arrived.  For  an  hour  he  sat  staring 
at  the  wall  above  his  desk;  then,  when  it  was  about  the 
hour  that  other  offices  opened,  he  went  out  again. 

This  was  the  day,  he  recalled  as. he  walked  briskly 
along,  that  he  had  meant  to  go  to  Jessica.  Jessica's 
day  wouldn't  begin  for  another  hour  yet;  and  when  it 
did,  she  wouldn't  know  how  near  it  had  come  to  being  a 
special  sort  of  day.  For  it  never  would  be  that  now.  It 
was  not  to  Jessica  that  Jim  was  going. 

He  walked  several  blocks,  entered  an  office,  and  sent 


DESCENT  FROM  OLYMPUS  209 

in  his  name.  It  was  an  office  where  he  had  never  been 
before;  it  was,  indeed,  a  sort  of  office  where  he  had 
never  expected  to  come.  But  he  felt  very  cool  as  he 
waited;  he  had  the  strength  of  a  man  who  knows  his 
own  mind  at  last. 

He  found  himself  presently  aCross  a  table  from  a 
burly,  keen-eyed  man,  the  person  to  whom  he  was  re- 
quired to  state  his  business.  "There  is  something,"  be- 
gan Jim,  "that  I  would  like  to  have  you  find  out  for  me, 
if  you  can." 

"We  can  try,"  the  burly  man  assured  him.  He  took 
a  pencil  in  his  thick  fingers,  and  waited  considerately;  it 
would  make  no  difference  in  that  professionally  consider- 
ate manner  of  his,  Jim  felt,  whether  he  were  asked  to 
trace  missing  jewelry  or  a  missing  wife. 

He  did,  however,  lose  his  professional  calm  so  far  as 
to  stare  for  a  moment  when  Jim  brought  out,  "Please 
learn,  if  you  can,  what  disposition  was  ever  made  of  a 
private  yacht  called  the  Helga — who  owns  her  now,  and 
whether  she  is  in  commission,  and  if  so,  where  she  is 
sailing." 

A  moment  later,  however,  the  eyes  of  the  burly  one 
were  on  his  desk,  and  he  was  noting  Jim's  replies  as  he 
asked  in  his  unruffled  way,  "Who  owned  her  when  you 
knew  of  her?  Where  was  she  chartered  from? 
What ?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 
WAITING 

IT  was  a  month  before  Jim  received  the  burly  one's 
•*•  final  report,  although  he  had  several  preliminary 
ones.  It  was  part  of  the  business,  he  supposed,  not  to 
let  results  appear  too  easily  achieved;  and  his  agents 
seemed  to  be  actually  tracing  the  wanderings  of  the 
Helga  after  she  left  Rio  de  Janeiro.  Under  the  circum- 
stances, Jim  could  afford  to  wait. 

He  trod  on  air,  indeed,  during  the  interval  before  that 
final  report:  he  was  as  happy  as  a  spirit  escaped  from 
prison,  as  brilliantly  uneasy  as  a  bridegroom  on  the  eve 
of  his  nuptials.  Exactly  what  lay  ahead  of  him  he  did 
not  know ;  but  he  had  now  no  doubt  as  to  the  final  out- 
come. So  long  as  he  and  Zoe  were  both  in  the  land  of 
the  living,  there  could  be  but  one  possible  outcome.  As 
for  the  recent  past,  he  didn't  regret  it.  There  was  in  his 
present  mood  no  room  for  regrets:  and  at  any  rate  the 
recent  past  had  probably  given  Zoe  time  to  find  herself. 
But  in  view  of  what  he  now  knew,  this  time  of  separation 
and  indecision  seemed  absurd  enough:  with  but  one  life 
to  live,  look  at  all  the  months  they  had  wasted ! 

When  it  came,  the  burly  one's  report  dumfounded 
Jim.  He  had  thought  himself  prepared  for  anything; 
had  walked  into  the  detective's  office,  summoned  by  a 
telephone  call,  with  a  proud  consciousness  of  being  ready 
to  meet  the  issue.  And  here  was  the  issue  eluding  him. 

2IO 


WAITING 

After  a  moment's  startled  silence,  Jim  was  disposed  to 
argue  the  matter.  "That  can't  be  true,  you  know,"  he 
heard  himself  say.  "You  may  have  been  on  the  right 
track  up  to  this  point;  you  seem  to  have  been.  But  lat- 
terly you  must  have  gone  astray.  The  Helga  was  a 
perfectly  new  yacht,  and  built  to  her  owner's  design. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  and  very  costly.  She  may  have 
been — sold;  but  you  must  be  wrong  about  the  other." 

"You  can  retrace  our  inquiry ;  I  have  had  copies  of  the 
correspondence  made  for  you,"  said  his  friend.  "You 
can  see  for  yourself  that  not  a  link  in  the  chain  is  miss- 
ing. I  admit  that  the  disposition  of  the  yacht  was  pe- 
culiar; but,  don't  you  see,  a  peculiar  case  may  be  traced 
the  most  surely." 

"I  can  see  that,  in  general,"  Jim  admitted.  "But  the 
Helga  scrapped — !  The  Helga  was  the  most  beautiful 
ship  that  ever  floated;  even  to  my  landsman's  eye,  she 
was  a  miracle  of  beauty.  And  her  owner  loved  her, 
doted  on  her." 

"The  psychology  of  the  case  would  seem  to  be  some- 
what peculiar;  it  would  have  to  be,  to  justify  the  facts,3' 
the  other  admitted.  "But  it  is  the  facts  of  the  case  that 
are  my  business,  not  the  psychology." 

The  reasonable  tone  of  every  day  asserted  itself  in 
Jim.  "Of  course,  you  must  be  right,"  he  said.  "I  am 
surprised,  that's  all.  May  I  have  the  correspondence 
you  spoke  of,  please?  And  if  I  can  settle  for  this  now, 
I  won't  trouble  you  to  send  a  bill  to  my  office." 

He  took  the  correspondence  home  with  him  that  night, 
and  read  and  reread  it  from  beginning  to  end.  It  was 
for  the  most  part  cablegrams,  but  there  were  one  or  two 
explanatory  and  confirmatory  letters.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  flaw  in  the  evidence :  the  facts  were  before  him, 
from  beginning  to  end.  But  his  mind  groped  in  vain 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

for  the  significance  of  the  facts.  Zoe — sell  the  Helga? 
It  couldn't  be.  Zoe — contemptuously  give  away  "for 
scrap"  the  beautiful  ship  she  had  herself  planned,  the 
surpassing  successor  to  the  various  boats  that  she  had  all 
her  life  loved?  It  couldn't  be.  But  it  was.  It  was.  But 
it  couldn't  be. 

The  significance,  of  course,  lay  clearly  enough  before 
him  all  the  time;  it  was  only  that  his  mind  refused  to 
accept  that  obvious  significance.  Zoe  had  thrown  away 
the  Helga  because  it  had  been  the  scene  of  his  love  and 
hers.  Jim  caught  and  admired  the  magnificence  of  her 
gesture:  it  was  as  good  as  telling  him  that  Heaven 
itself  wouldn't  be  big  enough  for  the  two  of  them.  No, 
that  wasn't  it,  either.  It  was  as  good  as  telling  herself 
that.  She  had  no  certainty  that  Jim  would  ever  learn 
what  had  become  of  the  Helga ;  and  knowing  Zoe  as 
he  did,  Jim  couldn't  believe  that  she  very  much  cared 
whether  he  ever  did  learn.  It  was  to  herself  that  she 
was  acting. 

If  she  acted  like  that  for  her  own  benefit,  of  course  it 
showed  one  thing  conclusively:  Zoe  hadn't  been  able 
simply  to  erase  him  from  her  mind.  A  woman  wouldn't 
throw  away  even  the  money  that  the  Helga  represented, 
let  alone  the  triumphant  Helga  herself,  in  order  not  to 
be  reminded  of  a  man  whom  she  could  conveniently  for- 
get anyway.  Plainly,  she  loved  him;  as  plainly,  she 
would  not  yield  to  her  love  for  him.  Well,  he  had  never 
doubted  that  first  fact ;  but  a  life-time  would  not  be  long 
enough  to  convince  him  of  the  second.  Yet  it  was  plainly 
before  him,  and  his  intellect,  at  least,  accepted  it. 

She  loved  him;  both  his  intellect  and  his  instinct  be- 
lieved that.  And  he  didn't  even  know  where  she  was, 
nor  how  nor  with  whom  she  spent  her  days.  Curiosity, 
which  had  slumbered  in  Jim  all  these  months,  awoke  and 


WAITING  213 

tortured  him.  Zoe  wasn't  imprisoned  in  their  common 
past,  as  he  had  appeared  to  assume.  Like  him,  she 
breathed  and  walked  the  earth  visibly;  she  ate,  drank 
and  talked.  Where?  With  whom?  This  very  eve- 
ning she  was  probably  not  alone;  somebody's  eyes  were 
being  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  her  white  shoulders  and 
massed  hair.  Or  if  it  were  now  morning  where  she  was, 
she  might  be  walking  the  uplands  in  her  splendour — and 
not  alone,  not  alone. 

His  life  and  Zoe's,  flowing  together  so  completely 
and  then  so  completely  apart,  were  indeed  strangely  and 
singularly  free  from  natural  points  of  contact.  There 
wasn't  anybody  to  whom  he  could  say  casually,  "Where 
is  Zoe  Lenox  now?  And  what  is  she  doing?"  He  didn't 
know  anybody  who  could  give  him  even  an  approximate 
answer.  Stuart  Evington  knew  nothing  as  to  her  where- 
abouts or  occupation,  although  it  was  Stuart  who  had 
introduced  Jim  to  her.  It  seemed  to  Jim  that  Zoe  ought 
to  be  fairly  an  international  figure;  and  yet  the  people 
among  whom  he  lived  were  the  kind  who  knew  every 
international  reputation;  and  they  appeared  never  to 
have  heard  of  Zoe  Lenox. 

Enlightenment  of  a  sort  reached  Jini  that  summer 
from  an  unexpected  although  by  no  means  unusual 
source.  At  the  height  of  its  slack  season,  the  great  Amer- 
ican press  suddenly  discovered  Zoe  Lenox. 

One  morning  she  stared  at  Jim,  as  he  ate  his  leisurely 
Sunday  breakfast,  from  the  gaudy  page  of  a  highly  il- 
lustrated "supplement."  An  enterprising  correspondent 
had  written  her  up  as  a  full-page  "feature,"  with  sev- 
eral photographs  and  with  some  veracity.  She  was,  the 
article  had  it,  a  striking  figure  of  European  society,  and 
one  in  whose  future  much  interest  was  shown.  She  had, 
too,  enough  of  a  past  to  engage  the  imagination  of  a 


214  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

reporter.  Dan  Lenox's  career  was  boldly  shadowed 
forth,  and  Zoe's  early  life  in  the  tropics. 

But  it  was  in  Zoe's  suitors  that  the  interest  of  the  ar- 
ticle centred.  Now  at  last  Zoe's  Grand  Dukes  were  spe- 
cially set  before  Jim,  names  and  titles  and  achievements 
— some  of  the  achievements  being  more  than  a  little 
questionable.  "Grand  Dukes"  had  been  Jim's  jocular 
generic  term  for  the  gentlemen  who  sought  Zoe's  favour ; 
but  there  were  two  actual  Grand  Dukes  in  the  list  here 
given.  Several  other  noblemen  of  varying  degrees  were 
categorically  set  down,  and  a  reigning  monarch  was 
rather  more  than  hinted  at.  The  reporter  who  wrote 
that  "feature"  knew  his  business,  and  doubtless  beguiled 
a  few  minutes  for  more  than  one  Sabbath-weary  reader. 
It  was  but  natural  that  Jim  Whittaker,  considering  his 
peculiar  interest  in  the  subject,  should  read  the  article 
with  avidity,  and  then  throw  down  the  paper  in  dis- 
gust. 

A  moment  later  he  picked  it  up  again;  for  he  hadn't 
more  than  glanced  at  the  pictures.  He  needn't  read 
twaddle  about  her;  but  he  couldn't  blame  himself  if  he 
looked  rather  hard,  and  perhaps  more  than  once,  at  her 
pictures. 

The  largest,  near  the  centre  of  the  page,  reproduced  a 
photograph  that  Jim  had  seen;  there  was  a  copy  on 
board  the  Helga.  It  was  probably  her  official  picture. 
It  was  of  her  head  and  shoulders  only,  and  was  taken 
directly  from  the  front:  it  showed  the  perfect  features, 
the  level  gaze,  of  a  conscious  and  successful  beauty.  It 
showed,  too,  the  characteristic  hairdressing  that  Jim  re- 
membered so  well.  To  the  right  of  this  picture  was  a 
smaller  one,  evidently  a  snap-shot,  taken  outdoors  and 
in  riding  costume.  Jim  had  never  seen  her  dressed  so; 
he  had  to  acknowledge  that  she  looked  very  handsome, 


WAITING 

and  quite  self-confident,  as  she  stood  crop  in  hand,  tall 
and  graceful  and  at  her  ease.  She  was  smiling  a  little; 
and  Jim's  heart  beat  faster  because  of  that  smile — her 
very  smile  on  paper !  Jim  had  smiled  a  little  in  answer, 
before  he  remembered  to  wonder  at  whom  she  had  been 
smiling  when  the  picture  was  taken;  and  then  he  smiled 
at  his  own  absurdity,  and  passed  to  the  picture  on  the 
left. 

This  too  showed  her  at  full  length ;  and  it  was  a  new 
picture.  Her  dress  would  never  have  dated  the  picture : 
Zoe's  idiosyncratic  evening  gowns  might  have  done  duty 
from  season  to  season,  Jim  supposed,  and  no  Grand 
Duke  of  them  all  would  ever  have  been  any  the  wiser. 
It  was  Zoe's  face  that  was  different,  different  enough  to 
show  even  in  a  newspaper  "cut" :  the  cheeks  a  little 
flatter,  the  lips  a  little  compressed,  the  eyes  hollow  and 
bright.  If  it  had  been  the  face  of  a  stranger,  Jim  would 
have  said  that  it  showed  power  of  a  sort,  but  not  the  ul- 
timate sort:  it  was  the  face  of  a  woman  who  would 
throw  away  kingdoms,  not  to  speak  of  yachts,  without  a 
tremor  or  an  afterthought,  but  who  couldn't  quite  pos- 
sess herself.  Yet  when  Jim  had  met  Zoe  Lenox  for  the 
first  time,  at  the  Evingtons'  that  day  now  a  year  agone, 
that  had  been  emphatically  just  what  she  could  do,  just 
what  she  was  notable  for  doing.  She  had  possessed  her- 
self absolutely. 

Jim  threw  down  the  paper,  and  then  picked  it  up.  It 
had  occurred  to  him  that  the  article  might  give  some  hint 
as  to  an  address,  in  case  he  wanted  to  write  to  Zoe.  But 
he  didn't  want  to  write.  He  had  nothing  to  say,  in  the 
first  place:  all  that  he  could  have  told  her  she  knew  al- 
ready, and  refused  to  acknowledge.  Anyway,  he  couldn't 
have  written  in  the  face  of  that  article.  To  write  to  Zoe 
in  the  light  cast  by  an  American  supplement  would  be 


216  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

like  bombarding  a  prima  donna  with  notes.  After  all, 
he  was  at  least  an  intimate  friend  of  the  lady's;  and  it 
behooved  him  to  remember  even  that  surface  fact. 

Jim  had  plenty  of  that  artificial  white  light  during  the 
weeks  that  followed :  again  and  again  it  showed  and  dis- 
torted his  lady  and  his  love.  The  American  journalist, 
having  at  last  discovered  Zoe  Lenox,  had  found  in  her 
a  congenial  and  a  fruitful  theme.  She  had  a  romantic 
background  and  a  rich  setting;  she  photographed  beauti- 
fully ;  and  best  of  all,  she  consented  just  now  to  perform 
exploits  for  his  benefit. 

Even  allowing  for  journalistic  embroidery,  there  was 
enough  left  in  the  account  of  those  exploits  to  puzzle 
Jim.  He  could  imagine  Zoe  as  the  centre  of  a  certain 
amount  of  stir;  but  only  as  its  passive,  perhaps  its  bored 
centre.  To  rush  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other 
in  restless  excitement,  in  positive,  aggressive,  ceaseless 
activity,  wasn't  like  her  at  all.  As  Zoe  herself  would 
have  said,  she  would  rather  sit  still  and  read.  But  now- 
adays she  never  was  still:  perhaps  she  had  burned  her 
library  when  she  destroyed  the  Helga.  She  was  in  a 
whirl  of  events  and  undertakings :  and  through  the  pub- 
lic prints  her  lover  could  glimpse  her,  entertaining  lav- 
ishly and  extensively,  being  entertained  furiously  in  re- 
turn, figuring  conspicuously  with  other  notables  in  the 
hunting-field — she,  the  daughter  of  the  sea! — organis- 
ing picturesque  regattas,  and  herself  sailing  in  some 
events  and  winning,  organising — oh,  final  touch  of  the 
incongruous! — two  or  three  huge  charitable  bazaars  of 
a  Yankee  efficiency  and  ingenuity. 

But  chiefly  and  always,  Zoe  figured  in  those  articles 
as  sought  by  men.  In  a  way  there  was  nothing  surpris- 
ing in  that  fact :  she  always  had  been  sought  so,  and  with 
her  qualifications  she  always  would  be.  But  Jim  some- 


WAITING  217 

how  gathered  that  now  she  deliberately  invited  wooing 
— deliberately,  and  desperately.  To  Jim,  reading  the 
account  of  her  doings,  it  seemed  as  if  seven  devils  must 
have  entered  into  her. 

He  was  himself  rather  given  up  to  devils  these  days. 
If  he  could  have  arrived  at  a  conviction  that  Zoe  was 
forever  lost  to  him,  and  rested  in  that  conviction,  he 
might  have  been  by  this  time  on  the  way  to  recover  his 
poise.  But  he  couldn't  believe  that  she  was  lost  to  him. 
His  spirit  refused  to  admit  the  possibility;  and  these 
glimpses  of  her  that  he  had  through  the  public  prints 
corroborated  the  findings  of  his  instinct.  She  was  driv- 
ing herself  through  her  program;  she  was  striving 
with  all  her  might  to  forget.  That  meant  she  couldn't 
forget  easily.  Some  day  she  would  tire  of  her  driving 
and  striving;  and  when  she  tired,  she  might  make  him  a 
sign.  Or  she  might  not;  it  would  be  rather  more  like 
her  not  to. 

It  is  easier  to  learn  to  do  without  a  limb  than  to  live 
always  on  the  point  of  an  amputation  which  is  some- 
how never  performed.  Still,  one  does  not  feel  any 
worse  than  one  has  to.  And  there  are  things  to  be  en- 
joyed, one  may  suppose,  even  in  the  shadow  of  the  gal- 
lows, if  a  man  have  the  proper  temperament.  There  are 
certainly  things  to  be  curious  about — the  duration  of 
the  hempen  caress,  for  example.  And  there  is  always, 
to  a  man  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  tradition,  the  possibility 
of  at  any  moment  making  himself  ridiculous  in  his  own 
eyes,  and  spending  his  last  earthly  moments  in  the  toils 
of  a  wounded  and  writhing  self-esteem. 

Jim's  spirit  gave  that  final  proof  of  vitality  whenever 
he  thought  of  Jessica  Drummond.  He  did  not  see  her 
again  for  months  after  that  evening  when  he  had  planned 
to  marry  her  out  of  hand.  But  he  thought  of  her  many 


218  TftE  VANISHED  HELGA 

times,  and  he  could  never  think  of  her  without  writhing 
at  the  remembrance  of  how  he  had  in  his  own  mind  con- 
descended to  her. 

That  following  summer  he  did  finally  see  her  again. 
She  and  he  were  both  members  of  a  small  house-party  at 
the  Evingtons'.  It  was  not  the  first  time  Jessica  had 
been  there  in  the  last  year,  for  June  still  clung  to  her 
friend;  but  it  was  the  first  time  she  and  Jim  had  hap- 
pened to  be  there  together. 

They  encountered  at  tea  on  the  terrace.  The  first 
moment  might  have  been  horrible  with  constraint;  but 
it  simply  wasn't.  Jessica  met  him  quite  naturally;  and 
her  lack  of  embarrassment  bred  the  same  ease  in  him. 
She  didn't  expect  anything  from  him,  and  she  wasn't 
ashamed  of  what  she  had  given.  Appreciating  her  at- 
titude, Jim  experienced  a  prompt  mental  side-glimpse 
toward  a  woman  whose  favours  were  greater,  but  not 
granted  in  so  ungrudging  a  spirit.  Then  mentally  he 
apologised  to  Jessica  because  he  couldn't  accept  her  on 
her  own  merits,  without  reference  to  the  short-comings 
of  another. 

He  set  himself  to  be  very  nice  to  her;  and  he  found 
that  Jessica  was  different  from  what  she  once  had  been. 
She  had  ceased  to  grasp  and  clamour ;  she  seemed  to  have 
found  a  whole  range  of  new  values,  exactly  the  values 
that  Jim  would  never  have  expected  her  to  find.  Being 
nice  to  her  was  unexpectedly  easy;  he  was  nice  to  her, 
off  and  on,  from  the  Saturday  afternoon  to  the  Monday 
morning.  On  leaving  he  was  rewarded  by  a  special 
smile  from  June;  and  he  wondered  if  all  June's  combi- 
nations were  quite  without  calculation.  He  couldn't, 
however,  pierce  June's  clear-eyed  candour ;  and  of  course 
in  this  case  it  didn't  matter  anyhow. 

Later  he  was  for  another  week-end  at  the  Evingtons', 


WAITING  219 

and  Jessica  Drummond  wasn't  there;  later  still  for  an- 
other, and  she  was.  He  had  looked  toward  this  second 
meeting  with  some  eagerness ;  but  when  it  came  it  bored 
him.  He  chanced  to  be  wretchedly  out  of  tune  with  life 
that  day:  he  was  thinking  of  things  which  he  felt  were 
better  forgotten;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  world 
was  peopled  entirely  with  women,  and  that  never  a 
woman  of  them  all  could  get  along  even  for  a  day  with- 
out making  demands  that  taxed  a  man  eternally,  or  lur- 
ing with  promises  that  she  never  meant  to  fulfil,  and 
couldn't  have  fulfilled  if  she  would. 

Summer  flowered  and  waned.  Jim  would  have  said 
that  for  him  every  day  dragged;  but  he  was  surprised 
when  at  length  he  realised  that  a  year  had  passed  since 
he  returned  from  his  cruise  in  the  Helga.  A  year,  and 
he  was  still  waiting.  Another  year  might  find  him  wait- 
ing so,  and  another,  and  another:  find  him  with  his 
yearning  fainter,  his  weariness  greater,  but  still  wait- 
ing. Already  he  had  wearied  of  his  position,  or  his 
complication,  if  that  was  what  you  chose  to  call  it;  but 
he  knew  better  than  to  rebel  actively.  If  he  cast  envi- 
ous glances  back  into  the  pleasant  places  of  his  bachelor- 
hood, or  sidewise  into  the  charming  domestic  gardens  of 
his  friends — well,  the  eyes  and  the  thoughts  will  wan- 
der, and  doubtless  he  was  envious.  But  he  was  letting 
it  go  at  that. 

And  that  next  winter  he  had  fairly  direct  news  of  his 
vanished  Zoe  and  her  vanished  Helga. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  YACHT   HELGA — DESTINATION — 

ALONG  late  in  the  afternoon  he  was  in  his  office 
signing  his  letters.  He  had  had  a  busy  and  an 
unusually  normal  day ;  but  he  was  beginning  to  reflect  in 
some  dismay  that  an  empty  evening  lay  ahead  of  him. 
One  so  seldom  had,  in  these  days,  that  he  ought  actually 
to  have  welcomed  a  little  leisure;  but  he  had  become 
craven,  and  feared  that  leisure  might  make  him  prey  to 
thick-coming  fancies.  Well,  he  could  look  in  at  a  the- 
atre if  he  actually  found  that  he  was  too  much  for  him- 
self. But  perhaps,  he  reflected,  it  would  be  better  not  to 
indulge  his  restlessness  at  the  expense  of  his  intellect, 
as  must  happen  if  he  chanced  on  a  poor  play.  And  even 
if  he  chanced  on  a  good  one,  he  would  be  entertained 
only  by  some  variation  of  the  great  human  duet  and  dis- 
cord. It  might  be  as  well  to  give  in  to  emptiness,  and  to 
fight  himself  to  sleep  at  ten  instead  of  at  one. 

As  Jim  scrawled  his  last  signature  he  heard  the  an- 
nouncement, "A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Mr.  Whittaker." 
He  blotted  his  writing  and  pushed  the  pile  aside  as  he 
looked  up ;  then  for  a  minute  he  remained  motionless  and 
staring.  His  visitor  advanced  with  outstretched  hand :  he 
was  as  if  he  had  been  bodied  forth  from  Jim's  thoughts, 
and  yet  he  somehow  wasn't.  But  Jim's  first  moment  of 
incredulity  was  followed  by  a  pleasure  he  didn't  have 
to  force.  "Masterson !"  he  cried.  "By  George,  this  is 

220 


THE  YACHT  HELGA—DESTINATION— 

a  surprise!  Wherever  did  you  come  from?  You're  as 
welcome  as  spring  flowers,  and  as  unexpected." 

Masterson  was  smiling  as  Jim  would  hardly  have 
supposed  he  could  smile.  But  when  he  stopped  smiling, 
his  seriousness  was  no  less  surprising.  His  sullenness 
was  gone ;  or  perhaps  rather  it  had  been  transformed  into 
simple  power  and  earnestness.  It  wasn't  the  accident  of 
shore  clothes  which  had  made  him  a  little  strange  to  Jim's 
eye;  it  was  the  change  in  the  man  himself.  "Has  all 
the  world  taken  to  reforming  itself?"  thought  Jim.  Aloud 
he  said,  motioning  the  man  to  a  chair,  "How  splendid 
you  are  looking !  What  are  you  doing  now  ?" 

"I  took  your  advice,  you  see,  and  I  have  benefited  by 
it,"  said  Masterson.  "I'm  captain  of  a  coasting  vessel 
whose  owner  wants  to  sell  her,  and  I'm  here  in  connec- 
tion with  that  business." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "And  how  much  time  have 
you  free?" 

"This  evening,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  said  Masterson. 

"So,  by  great  good  luck,  have  I,"  said  Jim.  "We'll  go 
forth  and  celebrate,  shan't  we  ?" 

"If  you  like,"  said  the  other,  smiling. 

"I  more  than  like."  Jim  jumped  up,  shutting  his  desk 
with  a  bang.  "Come  on!  Isn't  the  first  thing  dinner?" 

He  found  himself  oddly  roused  and  agitated  as  he 
strolled  forth  to  dine  with  the  quondam  mate  of  the 
Helga.  Seeing  Masterson  was  almost  like  seeing  Zoe, 
for  one  thing;  but  there  was  more  in  it,  there  was  more 
in  it  than  that.  And  at  first  that  something  more  was 
what  told  with  Jim.  The  former  mate's  bearing  as 
he  and  Jim  walked  down  the  street  side  by  side,  the  look 
of  him  across  the  dinner-table,  the  astounding  fact  that 
he  took  two  glasses  of  wine  with  his  meal,  and  having 
taken  them  stopped  there — all  these  things  proclaimed 


- 

THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

the  truth  that  Masterson  was  once  again  a  free  man.  He 
who  had  been  so  abjectly  and  so  long  the  slave  of  the 
devouring  Zoe,  was  now  free  and  on  his  feet.  That  re- 
markable fact  forced  an  interesting  conclusion:  having 
been  a  slave,  one  could  yet  be  free;  the  chains  did  not 
eat  into  one's  soul.  If  hope  proved  futile  and  yearning 
vain,  at  least  there  was  liberty  ahead.  Jim's  heart  leaped 
up  at  the  thought  of  freedom. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  topic  of  Zoe  should  come  up 
between  Jim  and  Masterson.  Not  to  have  let  it  come  up, 
indeed,  would  have  been  quite  too  pointed.  But  dur- 
ing dinner  her  name  was  never  once  mentioned,  nor 
was  there  any  allusion  to  the  yacht  Helga.  Masterson 
did  most  of  the  talking.  Either  he  had  found  a  tongue 
where  he  found  his  self-respect,  or  he  was  pouring  out 
now,  once  and  for  all,  the  accumulations  of  years.  He 
spoke  of  the  things  an  active  man  of  affairs  with  a  turn 
for  observation  might  see  and  mentally  record :  Jim  was 
amazed  at  the  number  of  such  things  there  seemed  to 
be,  without  ever  once  touching  the  great  human  duet. 
Masterson  phrased  his  ideas  well  enough,  but  that  wasn't 
what  surprised  Jim.  The  marvel  was  that  Masterson 
should  think  it  worth  his  while  to  phrase  anything  at 
all,  Masterson,  whom  Jim  remembered  as  a  whiskey- 
soaked  wretch  ridden  by  a  fixed  idea,  an  idea  which,  it 
would  have  been  reasonable  enough  to  suppose  at  that 
time,  might  one  day  ride  him  into  madness. 

Did  Masterson  see  in  him,  Jim  wondered,  a  corre- 
sponding change  in  the  other  direction?  Did  he  the 
enfranchised  despise  the  enthralled  as  the  enthralled  at 
times  despised  himself  ?  Jim  knew  that  he  was  morbid : 
resolutely  he  set  himself  to  follow  the  talk,  and  to  keep 
from  looking  below  its  surface.  Masterson  certainly 
hadn't  looked  him  up  merely  for  the  purpose  of  gloating 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     223 

over  him.  Exactly  why,  the  question  presented  itself, 
had  he  looked  him  up?  Impatiently  Jim  shook  himself 
free  of  his  own  silly  questions.  Masterson  had,  of 
course,  looked  him  up  as  one  man  does  another,  to  re- 
new an  acquaintance  and  to  fill  an  idle  evening.  Mas- 
terson wasn't  interested  in  Jim  Whittaker's  psychology, 
and  he  hadn't  conceivably  any  message  to  deliver. 

They  sat  for  a  long  time  over  their  dinner;  so  that 
although  it  was  early  when  they  began,  it  was  by  no 
means  early  when  they  finished.  "Shall  we  drop  in 
somewhere?"  asked  Jim,  and  proceeded  to  run  over  for 
his  friend's  benefit  the  mental  list  of  diversions  that 
he  had  made  earlier  in  the  day  for  his  own.  Masterson 
did  not  care  about  dropping  in  anywhere.  He  could 
go  to  any  of  those  places  when  he  was  alone ;  to-night  he 
preferred  to  talk  with  Jim.  He  had  talked  to  Jim  so  far; 
he  had  been  uncommonly  talkative.  Now  it  should  be 
Jim's  turn. 

Jim  didn't  know  that  he  had  much  to  say ;  but  a  quiet 
evening  would  suit  him  perfectly.  They  could  go  up  to 
his  flat,  and  smoke. 

That  was  what  they  finally  did.  Jim  lighted  a  fire, 
and  drew  forward  two  chairs;  the  cigars  were  within 
easy  reach  of  both.  The  two  men  established  themselves, 
and  a  long  silence  fell,  a  silence  that  might  have  ended 
in  embarrassment,  but  ended  instead  in  understanding. 
They  both  looked  around  at  the  same  moment;  and  as 
their  eyes  met,  Jim  asked,  "When  did  you  leave  the 
Helga?" 

"Well — not  when  I  said  I  would."  Masterson's  glance 
followed  a  trail  of  smoke  to  the  ceiling,  and  then  re- 
turned to  Jim.  "No,  of  course  not  when  I  said  I  would." 

"I  rather  thought  that  you  would  just  then,"  Jim 
stated. 


224  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Oh,  I  fully  meant  to,  at  the  moment  when  I  told  you  I 
was  going.  I  fully  meant  to,  but  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  I  never  thought  I  would.  You  see,  I  was  valuable 
to  my  employer;  I  was  doubly  valuable  just  then,  be- 
cause her  captain  was  on  the  point  of  leaving.  I  meant 
to  leave;  but  she  would  come  to  me  some  day,  and  look 
at  me  with  her  cool  eyes,  and  say,  'You  are  staying  on, 
Mr.  Masterson  ?  You  will  take  the  Helga  to  Liverpool  ?' 
— or  the  Windward  Isles,  or  Kamchatka,  or  wherever 
suited  her  fancy.  And  I  should  look  back  at  her;  and 
with  an  honourable  life  in  one  scale,  and  casual  contact 
with  that  woman  in  the  other,  I  should  stay.  She  would 
know  that,  you  see,  and  count  upon  it." 

"And  was  that  the  way  it  happened?"  asked  Jim. 

"Very  nearly.  The  Helga  was  repaired  at  Rio  de 
Janeiro,  and  then  sailed  for  the  States.  The  captain 
left  us  in  Florida;  Miss  Lenox  was  really  very  angry 
with  him,  for  some  reason ;  or  perhaps  she  was  angry 
with  herself,  for  keeping  him  so  long.  She  ought  to 
have  been  a  better  judge  of  seamen.  When  he  had  gone 
ashore,  she  sent  for  me,  and  asked  if  I  would  get  another 
mate,  and  would  myself  take  the  Helga  to  Liverpool. 
She  didn't  seem  even  to  remember  that  I  had  talked  of 
resigning.  She  wouldn't,  you  know,  remember  anything 
that  it  wasn't  convenient  for  her  to  remember." 

"And  you  stayed  ?"  suggested  Jim. 

"I  stayed,  just  as  she  had  expected  me  to.  I  would 
have  given  anything  I  possessed  for  the  ability  to  turn 
on  my  heel  and  leave  the  Helga  then  and  there;  but  all 
I  did  was  to  say  in  the  fewest  possible  words  that  I 
would  take  the  Helga  as  far  as  Liverpool.  She  said 
sweetly,  'Thank  you  very  much,'  and  she  laughed  a  lit- 
tle. I  could  have  wrung  her  neck  for  that  laugh.  Her 
sweetness  was  all  calculated;  when  she  was  as  idle  and 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     225 

angry  as  she  was  that  day,  I  suppose  she  had  a  sort  of 
pleasure  in  making  me  do  as  she  wished,  and  knowing 
that  it  was  quite  against  my  will." 

"Yet  you  must  have  derived  some  satisfaction  from 
being  with  her,"  Jim  argued,  "or  with  the  odds  so  heav- 
ily against  it,  you  wouldn't  have  stayed." 

"Satisfaction,  nonsense!  Nothing  but  torture,"  as- 
serted Masterson.  "As  much  satisfaction  as  a  man  may 
get  from  delirium  tremens." 

"It's  only  that  hell  is  better  than  a  void  ?"  suggested  Jim. 

"Yes,  if  you  come  to  choosing."  Masterson  reached 
for  a  fresh  cigar,  and  the  hand  with  which  he  lighted  it 
shook.  He  noted  the  shaking,  and  smiled.  "I  get  very 
angry  when  I  talk  about  her,"  he  explained  more  calmly. 
"Very  angry,  and  a  little  bit  excited.  I  haven't  got  her 
quite  out  of  my  system  even  yet,  and  I  don't  suppose 
I  ever  shall.  That  isn't  surprising.  The  marvel  is  that 
I  have  got  her  out  as  well  as  I  have." 

"That's  what  I  have  been  wondering  at,"  said  Jim 
quietly. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes !  It's  like — you  know,  I  have  never  read 
very  many  books  of  a  literary  nature " 

"I  know,"  murmured  Jim,  remembering  the  contents 
of  Masterson's  sea-going  library. 

"Yet  somewhere  I  remember  having  read  something 
that  fitted  this  case  well  enough.  I  don't  know  where  I 
read  it,  though  you  will  probably  recognise  the  quota- 
tion; but  I  remembered  it  from  the  once  reading.  It 
goes  something  like  this: — 

'  So  is  my  spirit,  as  flesh  with  sin, 

Filled  full,  eaten  out  and  in, 

With  the  face  of  her,  the  eyes  of  her '  " 

"  '  The  lips,  the  little  chin,  the  stir 
Of  shadow  round  her  mouth,'  " 


226  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Jim  finished  for  him. 

"Yes,  I  thought  you  would  know  it;  it  may  be  fa- 
mous, for  all  I  know.  'Filled  full,  eaten  out  and  in, 

with  the  face  of  her,  the  eyes  of  her ' '  Masterson 

drew  a  long  breath.  "So  was  my  spirit,"  he  said. 

In  the  pause  that  followed  his  bracing  sanity  seemed 
to  make  itself  felt  in  the  room.  Jim  scanned  the  hand- 
some browned  face,  with  its  resolute  frown,  the  keen 
blue  eyes,  the  well-knit  figure  that  had  again  relaxed  into 
the  chair;  and  for  the  hundredth  time  he  marvelled  at  a 
recovery  so  complete.  The  fact  of  Masterson's  recovery 
was  indubitable,  even  if  the  means  were  to  remain  a 
mystery.  But  perhaps  he  should  soon  learn  the  means. 
"You  took  the  Helga  to  Liverpool?"  he  suggested. 

"No,  as  it  turned  I  didn't.  But  I  agreed  to  take  her 
there,  and  the  start  was  made.  Then  my  lady  changed 
her  mind:  she  decided  to  stop  at  the  Bermudas.  We 
circled  back,  made  the  Bermudas,  anchored  where  she 
bade  me.  She  wouldn't  disembark.  She  told  me  to 
start  for  Naples.  In  the  Mediterranean — we  actually 
got  as  far  as  the  Mediterranean — she  changed  her  mind, 
and  wanted  to  go  to  Genoa  instead.  I  finally  took  the 
Helga  through  the  Dardanelles  and  part  way  up  the 
Danube." 

"That  wasn't  like  herP'  ejaculated  Jim. 

"No,  it  wasn't.  But  it  was  more  like  her  than  she 
was  like  herself  during  all  that  time.  I  had  come  to 
watch  her  with  a  new  curiosity;  I  wanted  to  make  out 
what  she  was  about,  or  thought  she  was.  Well,  during 
all  that  voyaging  about  and  about,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
she  struggled  to  keep  her  outer  life  just  as  usual.  She 
adhered  to  her  daily  routine  as  if  there  were  some  magic 
virtue  in  doing  so — or  perhaps  as  if  she  were  mortally 
afraid  to  vary  from  it.  But  all  the  while  something 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     227 

was  preying  on  her,  preying  on  her  until  my  own  state 
was  peace  and  strength  itself  compared  to  hers.  Only 
she  wouldn't  give  in  to  it  a  hair's  breadth. 

"You  are  not  to  understand,  Mr.  Whittaker,  that  I 
myself  gave  in  completely.  You  saw  me  when  I  was 
at  the  worst  I've  ever  been  in  my  life.  Ordinarily  even 
in  those  days  I  didn't  drink  when  I  was  on  shipboard; 
and  when  the  Helga  wasn't  drifting  derelict,  the  mere 
work  I  had  to  do  gave  me  a  certain  strength.  I  am  a 
seaman,  you  mustn't  forget.  And  I  never  wholly  gave 
in  to  my  own  silliness  until  the  end.  That  is  what  I  am 
coming  to." 

Masterson  paused,  poured  himself  a  glass  of  water, 
and  drank.  He  seemed  just  at  that  point  curiously  un- 
willing to  go  on;  he  seized  a  pretext  for  delay.  "You 
think  it  strange  that  I  am  telling  you  all  this?"  he  asked. 

"Not  any  stranger  than  all  the  rest  of  the  affair,"  said 
Jim.  "It  has  all  been  rather  rum,  you  know." 

Masterson  nodded.  "There  are  times  when  it  seems 
to  me  like  something  I  have  dreamed,"  he  said.  "And 
of  course  your  part  in  it  was  stranger  than  mine.  You'll 
pardon  any  roughness  in  my  telling,  won't  you?  I'm 
not  used  to  telling  things  of  the  sort:  they  are  outside 
the  province  of  sailors'  yarns." 

'''Which  you  never  told  anyway,"  remarked  Jim. 

"No.  But  the  captain  of  the  Helga  used  to  tell  you 
a  few,  didn't  he?" 

"The  ancient  mariner?    He  did." 

"Perhaps  it  was  for  his  conversation  Miss  Lenox 
kept  him  so  long,  though  I  always  thought  it  was  for 
his  appearance.  Well,  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
He  had  been  left  behind,  and  I  was  acting  as  captain 
of  the  Helga,  and  not  enjoying  my  command  in  one 
sense.  In  another,  though,  I  loved  it.  The  Helga  was 


228  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

a  magnificent  little  ship,  you  know,  as  swift  and  sea- 
worthy as  she  was  beautiful,  and  she  was  quite  the  most 
beautiful " 

Masterson's  brow  contracted,  and  his  hands  clenched. 
"I  can't  tell  you  quite  how  a  seaman  feels  about  a  ship," 
he  said.  "But  I  grew  to  love  the  Helga  as  I  was  sailing 
her  crazily  about  the  globe ;  and  when  I  remembered  who 
had  planned  her,  I  felt  kinder  toward  the  Helga's  mis- 
tress. She  was  a  miracle,  the  Helga,  a  toy  ship,  if  you 
like,  designed  only  for  an  idle  woman's  pleasure,  but 
the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  expect  to  see  in  this 
world." 

"Even  a  landsman  could  see  how  beautiful  she  was, 
if  he  couldn't  appreciate  her  other  merits,"  said  Jim. 
And  he  thought,  this  ship  of  which  we  speak  is  the  ship 
on  which  I  had  that  unbelievable  report;  this  miracle 
that  has  moved  this  man  is  the  toy  which  that  woman 
cast  away. 

Masterson  threw  the  butt  of  his  cigar  in  the  fire,  clasped 
his  hands  around  his  knee,  and  swung  back  in  his  chair 
as  he  resumed  his  story.  "One  evening  as  we  were 
sailing  up  the  Danube,  bound  no  one  knew  whither,  I 
wished  to  see  Miss  Lenox  about  something  or  other. 
She  had  just  finished  her  dinner,  and  was  in  the  main 
saloon ;  so  I  went  in  there  to  talk  to  her.  She  was  wear- 
ing one  of  those  shimmery  white  things  she  was  so  fond 
of — dressed  as  if  for  a  party,  to  dine  alone.  She  stood 
near  the  fire-place,  under  the  picture  of  that  old  josser, 
her  father,  you  know " 

"Tall  and  white,"  said  Jim  softly. 

"Tall  and  white,"  repeated  Masterson  calmly,  "and 
looking  as  if  something  were  tearing  at  her  vitals.  But 
determined  to  look  her  best,  you  understand — or  rather 
determined  to  look  and  live  in  accordance  with  her  ideal 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     229 

of  Zoe  Lenox,  even  if  it  killed  her.  Well,  I  said  what 
I  had  come  to  say,  and  she  replied.  I  bade  her  good- 
night, but  somehow  I  knew  I  wasn't  going  away  from 
her  just  then.  I  not  only  lingered ;  I  stepped  up  a  little 
closer  to  her.  And  then  for  the  first  time  in  all  our  ac- 
quaintance, I  didn't  fight  her.  I  stood  there  and  let 
her  penetrate  me ;  softly  and  in  silence  I  enjoyed  her,  at 
a  distance  of  six  feet  or  thereabouts." 

Jim  made  some  sort  of  inarticulate  sound,  and  his 
hands  tightened  on  his  chair-arms.  But  Masterson 
didn't  heed  him;  he  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his 
audience  in  the  vividness  of  his  recollections.  "She 
stood  and  looked  at  me,"  he  went  on,  "in  her  highly  in- 
telligent way.  She  understood,  but  she  didn't  shrink.  I 
always  did  her  the  justice  of  realising  that  her  failings 
aren't  connected  with  any  mere  feminine  cowardice.  I 
made  her  shrink  that  evening,  but  it  was  in  quite  another 
way.  As  I  stood  there  beneath  her  cool  gaze,  I  dare 
say  my  own  became  as  cool.  I  found  myself  saying, 
'Well,  why  don't  you  give  in  to  it?' 

"  'Give  in  to  what?'  she  asked,  as  if  she  didn't  under- 
stand ;  and  perhaps  just  for  the  moment  she  didn't. 

"  'Why  go  on  pretending  that  you  aren't  hit  ?'  I  asked. 
'It's  surprising,  I  know,  for  you  to  be  hit,  but  it  isn't 
disgraceful.  And  he's  really  a  very  good  sort  of  fel- 
low— perhaps  in  some  ways  a  much  better  fellow  than 
you  deserve,  if  you'll  pardon  me  for  saying  so/ 

"You  may  judge  of  the  extent  of  her  consternation," 
Masterson  abruptly  returned  to  his  audience  to  say,  "by 
the  strain  in  which  she  replied  to  me.  'I  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about,  Mr.  Masterson,'  says  she 
shortly,  'and  I  think  you  are  extremely  impertinent.' 

"  'I  know  I'm  impertinent,'  I  answered,  'but  you  know 


230 

well  enough  what  I  mean.  Or  if  you  would  rather  be 
told,  I'll  tell  you.  I  mean  Jim  Whittaker.' " 

Jim  fairly  choked  at  the  mention  of  his  own  name  in 
the  scene  Masterson  evoked.  He  could  not  choose  but 
hear,  however,  for  Masterson  went  relentlessly  on. 

"She  went  all  to  pieces  for  a  moment  then :  she  grew 
as  white  as  her  gown,  and  threw  out  her  hands  to  steady 
herself.  I  took  one  of  them,  and  guided  her  to  a  chair. 
There,  you  see,  it  isn't  worth  the  effort,'  I  said.  'All 
this  resisting,  and  tying  yourself  in  knots.  After  all, 
why  shouldn't  you  love  him?  You  are  lucky  to  be  able 
to  love,  if  you  ask  me;  and  if  you  are  going  to  love,  you 
must  do  it  as  it  comes  to  you.' 

"I  was  prepared  for  anything  then,  except  for  what 
she  actually  did.  If  she  had  ordered  me  out  I  should 
simply  have  gone,  ordered  by  my  ship's  owner.  If  she 
had  gone  to  pieces  and  abased  herself,  I  shouldn't  have 
loved  her  any  the  less ;  and  if  she  had  denied  everything 
— that  is  what  most  women  would  have  done  under  the 
circumstances,  I  suppose,  simply  have  denied  everything. 
But  Zoe  Lenox  threw  back  her  head,  straightened  her 
distorted  features,  and  looking  steadily  at  me,  though 
not  into  my  eyes,  said,  'And  what  of  it  ?'  " 

It  seemed  to  Jim  that  he  couldn't  endure  another  word, 
yet  he  feared  to  interrupt.  Passionately  he  desired  to 
know  all,  to  know  the  worst;  he  hated  himself  for  lis- 
tening to  all  this,  yet  he  went  on  listening. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  that  made  me  feel,"  said  Mas- 
terson. "She  was  baffling  me  again,  just  as  she  always 
had.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  wasn't  a  woman  at  all, 
that  she  couldn't  be  and  do  as  she  did;  yet  I  was  fright- 
fully conscious  that  she  was  a  woman.  I  lost  control  of 
myself,  which  was  probably  just  what  she  wanted;  I 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     231 

cried  out,  'You  dare  say  that  to  me?  You  dare  say  it, 
here  in  the  very  scene  of  your  love?' 

"  The  scene  of  my  love  ?'  she  repeated.  'You  mean 
the  Helga?' 

"  'Of  course  I  mean  the  Helga,'  I  said. 

"  'I  shall  tell  you,'  she  said  softly,  'what  I  plan  to  do 
with  this  so-called  scene  of  my  love,  Mr.  Masterson. 
You  will  take  the  Helga  straight  to  Hamburg ;  and  when 
we  get  there  I  shall  sell  her  for  scrap.' 

"Even  at  that  moment  her  threat  rather  staggered  me, 
as  she  had  of  course  intended  that  it  should.  Not  that 
I  for  a  moment  believed  she  would  ever  do  it ;  but  even 
the  bare  idea  was  nauseating.  The  Helga  was  her  crea- 
tion as  well  as  her  property;  and  the  Helga  was  the 
most  beautiful  boat  I  ever  saw.  A  triumph,  a  work  of 
art,  in  the  only  art  that  I  understand — that  is  what  she 
was." 

"Was?"  Jim  echoed  politely,  although  he  knew  the 
answer. 

Masterson  nodded,  with  averted  eyes.  "She  did  it," 
he  said,  scarcely  above  his  breath.  "She  did  it,  and 
she  did  it  thoroughly.  There  is  no  hesitation  in  her, 
when  she  is  living  up  to  her  idea  of  Zoe  Lenox.  Prob- 
ably I  only  strengthened  her  in  her  decision  by  presum- 
ing to  argue  the  matter.  'You  can't  sell  her  for  scrap/ 
I  said.  'No  one  would  scrap  this  beautiful  new  boat. 
Of  course,  if  you  wish  to  sell  her,  you're  at  liberty  to  do 
so;  but  don't  think  that  I  believe  you  when  you  talk 
nonsense.' 

"  'I  will  scrap  her  myself,'  she  answered.  She  spoke 
now  quite  coolly;  she  was  rapidly  becoming  her  own 
mistress  once  more — or  as  much  her  own  mistress  as  it 
is  possible  for  her  to  be  nowadays. 

"I  turned  on  my  heel  and  left  her;  I  was  still  incredu- 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

lous,  though  perhaps  I  was  even  then  beginning  to  be 
frightened.  'You  have  your  orders,  Mr.  Masterson,' 
she  called  after  me. 

"I  didn't  act  at  once  on  those  new  orders;  I  gave  her 
a  chance  to  come  to  herself  without  having  openly  to 
avow  that  she  had  changed  her  mind.  I  only  brought 
down  a  rebuke  on  myself :  hadn't  I  understood  her  latest 
orders?" 

"And  she  actually ?"  suggested  Jim. 

"She  actually  saw  the  Helga  scrapped.  Under  her 
own  eyes  the  ship  was  knocked  to  pieces,  with  a  fiend- 
ish thoroughness ;  and  she  took  good  care  to  sell  a  piece 
here  and  a  piece  there,  so  that  the  Helga  couldn't  pos- 
sibly be  rehabilitated.  The  excellence  of  the  job  she 
made  gave  me  an  increased  respect  for  her  intelligence, 
to  be  sure.  No  wonder  her  father  made  a  fortune,  if 
he  did  all  his  little  jobs  so  well." 

"You  stayed  until  the  end?"  asked  Jim. 

"Until  the  very  end.  I  couldn't  tear  myself  away: 
the  whole  business  had  an  ugly  fascination  for  me.  Of 
course,  at  first  I  kept  hoping  that  she  would  relent." 

"But  she  didn't  relent?" 

"No.  She  finished  the  job,  and  paid  me  even  for 
those  last  days  on  shore,  and  looked  at  me  with  triumph 
in  her  eyes  as  she  told  me  that  of  course  now  she  had  no 
farther  need  of  my  services.  And  as  I  stood  before  her 
for  the  last  time,  with  her  money  in  my  hand,  I  was 
suddenly  glad  that  she  hadn't  relented.  For  every  stroke 
that  had  dismantled  the  Helga  had  driven  another  nail 
in  the  coffin  of  the  wretched  feeling  I  had  so  long  cher- 
ished for  her.  I  could  endure  most  things,  even  the 
knowledge  of  my  own  deterioration;  but  that  piece  of 
childish  folly  was  more  than  I  could  endure.  And  then 
the  Helga  was  the  most  beautiful  boat — I  suppose  a 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     233 

landsman  never  could  see  what  I  mean,  and  I'm  not 
clever  enough  to  make  him  see — but  the  Helga  was  the 
most  beautiful  boat  I  ever  saw." 

On  that  refrain,  the  beauty  of  the  Helga,  Masterson's 
voice  dropped  as  if  he  had  finished  his  story.  There  was 
a  long  silence  after  that.  Masterson  himself  broke  it, 
turning  to  Jim  with  a  smile.  "You  have  no  idea  how 
odd  it  feels,  having  been  in  such  a  position  for  so  long, 
to  be  your  own  man  again.  I  felt  positively  naked  at 
first:  I  shivered.  Many,  many  times  I  longed  to  go 
back.  But  there  wasn't  any  going  back ;  and  I  shouldn't 
actually  have  gone  if  opportunity  had  offered." 

"You  surely  are  your  own  man  again?"  Jim  asked, 
chiefly  in  order  to  ask  something.  Masterson  was  his 
own  man :  that  was  the  fact  which  had  been  patent  all 
the  evening. 

"She  found  the  only  way  to  cure  me.  I  myself  hadn't 
known  there  was  a  way,"  said  the  sailor. 

"Did  you  hope,"  asked  Jim,  "by  telling  me  all  this,  to 
cure  me,  too?" 

"No,"  said  Masterson.  "No,  I  didn't  expect  any- 
thing definite.  And  probably  you  think  that  in  telling 
you  I  have  been  more  than  a  little  of  a  cad.  Actually, 
of  course,  I  didn't  come  here  to  tell  you  all  this.  I  came 
simply  because  I  wished  to  see  you ;  then  I  got  to  talking, 
more  or  less  for  my  own  benefit;  and  when  I  had  once 
begun,  I  couldn't  stop.  You  are  the  only  audience  I 
ever  had  who  could  appreciate  this  particular  story ;  and 
this  is  the  only  good  story  I  ever  had  to  tell." 

"And  you  taciturn  people,  when  you  really  get  started, 
are  the  worst  of  any,"  said  Jim,  smiling. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes!  Pent-up  accumulation,  you  see.  I 
suppose  to-morrow  I  shall  wish  I  had  held  my  peace; 
but  somehow  just  now  I  don't  regret  having  told  you. 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

I  may  have  given  you  a  moment's  pain;  but  you're  not 
a  weak  man,  and  you  can  stand  it.  I  don't  think  you 
resent  pain  so  much  anyhow :  what  you  would  resent  is 
not  having  things  straight  in  your  own  mind." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  resent  anything  now,"  said 
Jim  slowly. 

"You  are — pretty  much  down?"  asked  the  other. 

"I  am  pretty  much  down." 

For  a  moment  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  in  under- 
standing; then  they  fell  in  embarrassment.  Masterson 
launched  suddenly  into  talk  of  an  indifferent  nature. 
Jim  was  not  listening;  and  he  doubted  afterward  if  Mas- 
terson himself  had  had  much  idea  of  what  he  said.  It 
got  them,  however,  over  the  crisis  of  their  emotion, 
without  their  having  to  avow  that  there  was  such  a  crisis. 

As  suddenly  as  he  had  begun,  Masterson  ceased  to 
talk;  he  stood  up,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  had  no 
idea  it  was  so  late,"  he  said,  exposing  the  dial  to  Jim. 
"How  I  have  run  on !" 

"Come  up  again  the  next  time  you  are  in  town,  and 
run  on  again,"  said  Jim. 

"That  may  be  a  long  time.  If  this  sale  falls  through, 
I  shan't  come  your  way  again  very  soon,  probably," 
replied  Masterson. 

"At  least,  I  am  glad  you  have  come  my  way  this 
time,"  said  Jim. 

Masterson  held  out  his  hand,  and  Jim  shook  it.  A 
moment  the  sailor  stood  regarding  his  friend;  the  little 
wrinkles  deepened  about  his  keen  eyes.  Then  he  mut- 
tered something  about  next  time,  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
walked  out  of  the  room.  He  had  let  himself  out  the 
door  before  Jim  could  get  there;  he  seemed  to  vanish 
from  the  room,  and  from  the  saga:  for  Jim  Whittaker 
never  saw  him  again  after  that  night. 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—     235 

He  never,  when  he  came  to  think  it  over,  expected  to 
see  him  again.  It  wasn't  fitting  that  he  should,  for  he 
now  had  Masterson' s  story  complete.  The  story  was 
queer  enough,  too,  as  Jim  thought  it  over  in  silence  and 
at  leisure,  while  he  waited  in  vain  for  sleep  to  come. 
Zoe's  destruction  of  the  Helga  had  done  for  Masterson 
what  neither  hi£  own  pride  nor  any  other  outrageous- 
ness  on  her  part  could  have  done.  Jim  appreciated  fully 
that  his  friend  had  now  been  restored  to  man's  stature. 
The  very  possibility  of  such  a  restoration  was  enough  to 
put  heart  into  a  man. 

But — here  entered  the  deadly  parallel — Masterson 
had  been  feeding  himself  for  years  on  the  empty  husks 
of  a  love.  It  was  time  for  him  to  be  cured ;  indeed  the 
time  had  come  when  he  must  be  cured  or  perish.  And 
Masterson  had  never  known  that  fulfilment  of  love  which 
eats  into  man's  bones  as  its  denial  never  can.  The 
balance  that  keeps  things  human  from  ever  getting  quite 
to  their  worst  had  reclaimed  Masterson  in  the  nick  of 
time. 

It  had  chosen  a  horrible  enough  instrument  for  the 
reclaiming.  Zoe's  outrage  upon  the  Helga  did  not  seem 
to  Jim  the  unspeakable  thing  that  it  must  seem  to  the 
seaman  Masterson.  But  Jim  had  his  own  solid  recogni- 
tion of  the  claim  to  respect  of  the  product  of  human 
ingenuity  and  human  labour;  and  he  had  a  civilised 
man's  regard  for  a  thing  of  beauty.  He  closed  his  eyes 
in  the  darkness,  and  he  could  see  suspended  before  him 
the  Helga  as  she  had  floated  above  him  in  the  blue,  be- 
fore he  set  foot  upon  her  for  the  first  time.  He  seemed 
to  board  her  again,  and  to  go  all  over  her;  over  every 
inch  of  her  he  went,  in  a  sudden  spurt  of  fancy  that  put 
her  almost  visually  before  him.  He  recalled  her  beauty 
and  shapeliness,  her  miraculous  detail  and  surpassing 


236  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

design;  he  fairly  yearned  to  her  perfection.  And  then 
he  recalled  that  that  perfection  was  no  more:  it  had 
been  broken  up  and  cast  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven, 
because  Zoe  willed  it  so.  The  thought  sickened  him. 

Perhaps  what  ought  to  have  haunted  him  was  not  the 
deed  itself,  but  the  spirit  which  had  prompted  it.  Zoe 
had  destroyed  the  Helga  to  prove  to  herself  her  own 
surpassing  indifference:  to  show  Zoe  Lenox  and  the 
world  that  she  didn't  care  for  anything,  or,  in  the  last 
analysis,  that  she  didn't  care  if  she  did  care.  Wanton 
destructiveness  would  have  been  almost  preferable  to 
this  actual  attitude,  with  its  monumental  insincerity,  its 
huge,  strange  conceit.  And  yet,  as  Jim  thought  over 
and  over  this  action  of  his  lady's  in  the  light  he  now 
had  upon  it,  it  became  not  only  comprehensible  to  him, 
but  even  in  a  way  admirable.  An  egotism  so  towering, 
even  if  it  did  not  wholly  trust  itself,  still  came  near  to 
being  a  magnificent  madness;  it  held  more  than  a  hint 
of  the  hereditary  greatness  for  which  Jim  had  once 
thought  to  search  Zoe's  nature  in  vain.  With  such  a 
gesture  of  disdain  did  your  splendid  half-Olympians  toss 
worlds  away. 

For,  of  course,  if  you  were  an  Olympian  through  and 
through,  your  disdain  was  too  deep  for  mere  theatrical 
display.  If  Zoe  had  reincarnated  her  father,  she  could 
have  sailed  on  in  the  Helga  to  the  end  of  time  without 
losing  a  jot  of  her  magnificence.  Ah,  but  if  Zoe  had 
reincarnated  her  father,  she  could  have  admitted  and 
embraced  her  love,  without  ever  abating  her  splendour 
or  damaging  her  priceless  self-esteem. 

All  roads  led  Jim  to  the  same  conclusion :  it  was  only 
by  the  frank  avowal  of  her  love  that  Zoe  could  finally 
have  possessed  herself.  He  smiled  even  now  at  the 
persistence  with  which  his  mind  came  back  to  this  same 


THE  YACHT  HELGA— DESTINATION—      237 

point;  yet  his  mind  doubted  as  little  as  did  his  heart 
that  on  this  all-important  point  he  was  right 

He  might  be  right;  but  Zoe  was  at  least  consistent. 
A  consistent  woman :  no  woman  but  a  complete  hanger- 
back  had  ever  been  consistent.  What  cynic  ever  wanted 
a  woman  to  be  consistent,  anyway  ?  But  what  lover  of 
consistency  wouldn't  have  loved  Jim  Whittaker,  who 
was,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not,  quite  the  most  consistent 
mortal  in  existence?  If  only  one  didn't  get  tired  of 
one's  own  consistency. 

But  Jim  did.  He  was  tired  of  his  own  consistency, 
and  his  lady's  vagaries,  and  the  general  sameness  of 
the  universe,  together  with  its  appalling  absence  of  de- 
sign. He  was  tired  of  not  sleeping  better,  too:  tired  of 
nights  like  this,  when  he  crooked  an  elbow  under  his 
head  and  waited  wearily  for  the  dawn.  Only  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  about  it,  except  wearily  to  wait. 

Just  about  dawn  he  actually  went  to  sleep ;  and  in  his 
sleep  he  retraced  once  more  the  plan  of  the  Helga.  There 
seemed  to  be  some  obligation  on  him  to  hold  the  whole 
thing  together;  and  finally  in  spite  of  his  efforts  it  flew 
all  to  pieces,  and  he  had  to  reassemble  it.  He  couldn't 
see  why  the  task  should  have  been  given  to  him :  he  was 
a  landsman,  as  they  could  easily  see.  But  the  point 
was  not  to  shrink;  if  it  was  his  duty  to  get  the  Helga  to- 
gether, get  it  together  he  must.  And  all  through  the 
scant  remainder  of  the  night  he  toiled,  bringing  together 
what  Zoe  had  scattered,  working  because  of  the  obliga- 
tion that  is  on  all  men:  but  working  more  particularly 
because  it  was  his  lot  to  follow  and  serve  a  woman  who 
belonged  to  the  disdainful  destructive  ones  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OUT   OF   THE   NIGHT 

ASTERSON'S  "one  good  story"  had  told  Jim  too 
much;  and  of  course  it  recalled  to  him  more  than 
it  actually  told.  The  small  measure  of  calm  which  Jim 
had  acquired  in  a  year  was  overset  in  an  evening.  His 
nights  were  once  more  feverish,  his  days  deadly.  The 
easiest  were  those  that  were  black  with  despair;  but 
usually  now  he  burned  with  impatience,  and  sometimes, 
worst  of  all,  he  glowed  with  hope,  foolish  futile  hope, 
which  was  born  only  to  turn  with  sickening  promptness 
and  rend  him. 

He  reached  a  climax  of  tenseness  one  night,  and  wrote 
Zoe  a  long  letter.  He  was  relieved  when  he  had  written 
it;  and  without  rereading,  he  sealed  and  sent  it.  In 
the  corner  he  put  his  usual  "return,"  although  it  might 
serve  as  warning  to  Zoe  if  she  chose  not  to  open  the 
letter.  For  the  address  he  singled  out  what  seemed  to 
him  the  most  likely  from  the  dozen  supplied  him  by  the 
press  articles  about  Zoe:  he  had  saved  every  one  of 
those  articles,  although  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  saving 
them,  and  always  meant  to  destroy  them. 

He  stole  out  at  midnight  to  post  his  letter ;  and  as  the 
pillar-box  clanged  shut,  he  had  a  queer  feeling  that  now 
at  last  he  had  done  something.  Yet  he  regretted  that 
he  could  not  maintain  forever  the  silence  of  the  past 
year;  it  was  as  effective  as  any  other  attitude  on  his 
part,  as  productive,  and  more  dignified. 

238 


OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT  239 

Still,  when  one  has  sent  a  letter,  one  always  has  some 
vague  expectation  of  an  answer.  Jim  waited  a  month, 
and  none  came:  he  wrote  again.  Later  still,  he  wrote 
a  third  time.  It  was  scarcely  possible  that  all  three  let- 
ters should  miscarry. 

Like  a  love-sick  girl,  Jim  lived  these  days  for  the  ad- 
vent of  the  postman.  Every  mail  that  came  into  his 
office  he  scanned  with  his  heart  in  his  throat ;  he  blessed 
human  stupidity  when  he  saw  that  his  stenographer  laid 
his  mail  on  his  desk  with  no  idea  that  it  was  more  im- 
portant than  it  always  had  been.  One  got  mail  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  too,  down  town  in  a  great  modern  city; 
a  dozen  times  a  day  Jim  went  through  his  little  comedy, 
letting  a  moment  pass  before  he  picked  up  his  letters, 
going  over  them  slowly,  because  until  you  had  turned  to 
it  you  could  always  almost  believe  that  the  next  letter 
would  be  the  one,  scanning  doubtful  envelopes  a  dozen 
times,  to  make  the  direction  look  like  her  writing. 

When  he  returned  home  at  night,  it  was  to  experience 
symptoms  of  suffocation  as  he  entered  the  heavy  outer 
door  of  the  building.  She  might,  of  course,  have  sent  a 
letter  here  rather  than  to  his  office.  She  never  had: 
there  was  never  so  much  as  a  post-card.  Very  well, 
then :  to-morrow,  she  might. 

That  was  the  worst  of  the  situation,  hope's  habit  of 
springing  eternal !  The  final  analysis  of  his  mail  always 
left  him  utterly  downcast:  the  blankness  told  him  all 
he  needed  to  know.  But  every  morning,  no  matter  what 
the  discouragement  of  the  previous  day  or  the  fever 
of  the  night,  he  woke  with  a  settled  conviction  that  to- 
day the  letter  must  come.  The  very  fact  that  it  hadn't 
come  before  showed  conclusively  that  it  would  come  to- 
day. And  always  at  the  sight  of  a  handful  of  letters 
his  heart  leaped  up:  leaped  up  perversely,  it  seemed  to 


240  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

him,  in  order  that  it  might  sink  the  lower  a  moment 
later.  And  then  it  wouldn't  stay  down;  it  simply 
wouldn't  stay. 

The  passage  of  time  without  his  seeing  or  even  hear- 
ing directly  from  the  lady  of  his  heart  put  Jim  himself 
into  a  painful  uncertainty  about  the  whole  affair.  Face 
to  face  with  Zoe  he  was  positive  enough;  but  back  in 
his  old  life  he  could  see  things  rather  differently.  This 
uncertainty  was  natural,  would  have  been  natural  even 
without  his  peculiar  circumstances.  What  makes  the 
love  of  a  mature  man  so  harassing  is  that  it  always 
produces  this  division  of  the  being.  The  folly  of  youth 
is  at  least  whole-hearted.  But  when  one  is  old  enough 
to  know  folly  for  what  it  is,  and  at  the  same  time  is 
none  the  tess  irresistibly  foolish,  there  is  pain  enough 
and  to  spare,  and  a  curious  rankling  shame.  We  should 
be  so  cynically  amused,  if  the  case  were  only  our  neigh- 
bour's instead  of  our  own. 

It  could  hardly  be  said  that  in  these  days  Jim  learned 
to  understand  Zoe  better;  he  had  never  misunderstood 
her.  Indeed  he  had  had  no  chance  to :  for  she  had 
worked  herself  out  with  maddening  clearness  along  the 
lines  that  Stuart  Evington  had  laid  down  for  her  when 
Jim's  acquaintance  with  her  was  only  hours  old.  She 
didn't  take  simply,  as  another  woman  might  have  done, 
or  as  Jim  himself  was  prepared  to  do;  she  didn't  take 
powerfully,  as  one  might  have  expected  of  the  daughter 
of  Dan  Lenox.  She  refrained  from  taking,  refrained 
systematically,  refrained  elaborately,  refrained  as  if  her 
fullest  expression  were  in  mere  negation.  Once  only 
she  had  had  courage  to  take;  and  that  courage  she  had 
gathered  from  the  very  shadow  of  death  itself.  That 
was  like  her;  it  was  very  like  her. 

Jim  himself  could  see  that  there  was  much  to  be  said 


OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT 

against  a  marriage  between  him  and  Zoe.  A  woman  of 
her  means  and  opportunities,  who  had  lived  a  spacious 
enough  life,  after  all,  could  hardly  be  expected  to  settle 
down  as  Jim  Whittaker's  wife;  and  for  all  his  native 
adaptability,  Jim  could  not  figure  himself  being  hauled 
about  the  surface  of  the  globe  as  Zoe  Lenox's  husband. 

But  it  wasn't  to  the  inappropriateness  of  the  match 
that  Zoe  objected,  although  in  her  intelligent  way  she 
undoubtedly  appreciated  that  inappropriateness  much 
more  thoroughly  than  did  Jim.  It  wasn't  even  to  mar- 
riage as  marriage  that  she  said  her  final  nay,  although 
she  probably  disliked  the  idea  of  marriage  in  its  simpler 
aspects.  What  gave  her  pause,  Jim  knew  as  well  as  if 
she  had  told  him  so,  was  the  horrible  finality  of  the 
thing.  Marriage  was  as  definite  as  death  itself,  and  for 
civilised  beings  almost  as  inevitable. 

With  all  said  against  marriage  in  general,  however, 
and  against  this  marriage  in  particular,  it  was  mere  folly 
to  perpetually  dash  oneself  against  a  stone  wall.  And 
how  much  worse,  when  the  stone  wall  was  of  one's  own 
erecting!  For  it  wasn't  money,  or  difference  in  station 
or  nationality,  or  any  defect,  real  or  assumed,  in  the 
marriage  relation,  that  stood  between  Jim  and  Zoe:  it 
was  Zoe  herself.  And  as  Jim  imagined  her  industriously 
piling  up  that  stone  wall  of  hers,  and  then  dashing  her- 
self against  it  until  she  was  all  bruised  and  bleeding, — 
yes,  and  then  not  pausing  for  breath  before  she  turned 
to  build  it  higher,  and  to  stop  any  breaches  that  her 
natural  feeling  might  have  made, — as  he  saw  all  this  with 
his  inner  eye,  Jim  could  have  wept  for  very  pity  of  the 
spectacle. 

And  for  all  his  weariness  of  the  subject — he  had  been 
over  it  all  so  many  times — he  waited  with  a  certain 
apprehensiveness  the  farther  development  of  Zoe's  con- 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

duct  of  her  life.  For  in  spite  of  the  dreariness  of  these 
present  days  he  had  an  insistent  feeling  that  some  day 
he  should  hear  more  about  her;  and  he  was  hoping 
against  hope  when  he  tried  to  think  that  that  "more" 
would  come  simply  in  the  shape  of  a  friendly  answer  to 
his  letters. 

Mention  of  Zoe  in  the  public  prints  had  fallen  off  dur- 
ing the  months  when  Jim  waited  for  the  letter  that  never 
came.  In  May,  however,  following  that  unquiet  win- 
ter, she  was  once  more  brought  to  the  notice  of  the 
world,  and  Jim  Whittaker. 

The  paper  that  bore  him  word  now  was  not  the  vari- 
coloured Sunday  "supplement"  which  had  so  exploited 
Zoe.  It  was  the  sufficiently  sober  press  of  a  week-day 
morning — of  Saturday  morning,  to  be  exact.  A  cabled 
news-item,  bearing  every  evidence  of  authenticity,  an- 
nounced the  engagement  and  approaching  marriage  of 
Zoe  Lenox,  daughter  of  the  late  millionaire,  to  an  Italian 
prince,  a  member  of  the  reigning  family. 

A  short  sketch  of  the  prince's  career  was  appended 
in  brackets;  but  although  Jim  read  it  conscientiously,  it 
told  him  nothing  that  he  hadn't  already  known.  The 
prince's  fame  had  penetrated  the  Western  hemisphere, 
and  Jim  had  long  known  it.  He  had  been  hunter,  ex- 
plorer, soldier,  even  social  reformer,  and  had  won  his 
spurs  in  every  field.  No  dissolute  or  enfeebled  prince- 
ling this:  Jim  had  at  least  been  supplanted  by  a  man. 
For  so  much,  and  for  his  feeling  that  her  future  was 
now  in  a  way  reasonably  safe,  Jim  strove  to  be  grate- 
ful. It  wasn't  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been.  Only,  he 
thought  with  a  twinge,  he  should  never  have  written 
those  ridiculous  letters;  nothing  could  have  been  more 
mal  a  propos  than  their  reaching  Zoe  just  when  they  did. 

Jim  was  surprised  at  his  own  coolness ;  and  as  the  day 


OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT  243 

wore  away,  he  began  to  think  that  perhaps  at  last  his 
definite  release  had  been  signed.  He  got  through  a 
crowded  hour  at  the  office,  clearing  up  to  the  end  of  the 
week's  work,  and  left  rather  early.  He  had  promised 
to  play  that  afternoon  in  a  tennis  match;  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  very  good  reason  why  he  should  not 
play  as  he  had  promised.  He  caught  his  train,  lunched 
frugally,  went  to  the  courts,  and  played. 

His  was  not  usually  tournament  form ;  but  that  after- 
noon he  surpassed  himself,  and  won  the  match,  which 
was  a  preliminary,  but  hotly  contested.  He  took  a  fierce 
satisfaction  in  winning:  he  liked  standing  in  the  hot 
sun,  and  leaping  for  balls,  and  smashing  them  back,  and 
showing  all  these  onlookers  that  he  could.  He  could, 
and  did;  he  strolled  off  the  court  feeling  how  pleasant 
even  a  trifling  success  may  be,  if  it  comes  at  exactly  the 
right  moment. 

Stuart  Evington  happened  to  be  present  at  the  match ; 
and  he  strolled  over  afterward  to  wring  Jim's  hand  in 
congratulation.  "The  best  game  I  ever  saw  you  play," 
was  his  comment.  "Sure  you  didn't  do  yourself  up, 
though  ?  You  look  rather  seedy." 

"The  sun  is  hot,"  said  Jim.  "Give  me  a  cigarette,  if 
you  have  one  about  you,  Stuart." 

Evington  offered  his  case.  "Have  you  heard,"  he 
inquired  casually  as  he  lighted  a  cigarette  for  himself, 
"of  the  brilliant  alliance  our  friend  is  forming?  Zoe 
Lenox,  I  mean  of  course." 

"I  read  about  it  in  the  morning  paper,"  said  Jim. 

There  were  people  all  about  them,  crowds  of  people, 
many  of  whom  they  both  knew;  but  just  at  that  mo- 
ment the  two  of  them  seemed  to  be  insulated.  The  acci- 
dent gave  Evington  a  chance  to  go  on,  in  his  role  of 
chronicle  and  brief  commentary  of  their  time.  "Pretty 


244  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

good,  for  a  girl  who  sprang  from  nothing  and  alighted 
from  nowhere,  shouldn't  you  say?  What  can't  women 
do,  when  they  once  make  up  their  minds  to?" 

"One  thing  they  always  can  do,"  returned  Jim,  "and 
that  is  to  marry  advantageously.  But  that's  not  surpris- 
ing, when  a  woman  has  beauty  and  wealth,  and  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  intelligence." 

"And  no  scruples,  eh?"  Stuart  grinned  as  he  added, 
"I'm  afraid,  now,  she's  lost  to  me  forever:  that's  my 
one  objection  to  the  arrangement.  I  say,  Jim — what  a 
princess  she'll  make!" 

"Yes,  won't  she?"  said  Jim  appreciatively.  "The  kind 
you  read  about."  Even  to  his  own  ears  his  voice 
sounded  quite  natural;  he  was  getting  away  with  this 
thing  famously. 

Evington  nodded  two  or  three  times,  savouring  his 
idea.  There  was  a  movement  in  the  crowd  about  them ; 
some  one  else  came  up  to  speak  to  Jim.  "When  are  you 
coming  out  to  see  us,  Jim?"  asked  Evington  quickly. 
"Shan't  I  wait  for  you  and  take  you  over  to-night?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  answered  Jim.  "I'm  going  home 
to-night.  I'm  rather  done  up;  and  I  think  I  can  get  a 
better  night's  rest  there  than  elsewhere." 

"Well,  some  time  soon,"  said  Evington,  turning  away. 

Somebody  else  seized  Jim's  hand  and  shook  it.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  great  many  people  about  him  now,  and 
they  all  talked  at  once.  Jim,  listening  to  them,  and  try- 
ing to  separate  their  comments  one  from  another,  real- 
ised that  he  was  indeed  very  badly  done  up:  his  head 
ached  hard,  and  his  limbs,  which  had  been  agile  enough 
a  few  minutes  before,  were  beginning  to  feel  stiff  and 
heavy.  He  had  had  other  invitations  beside  Stuart's 
for  the  week-end,  but  fortunately  he  had  declined  them. 
He  would  shut  himself  up  for  a  good  rest;  and  by  Mon- 


OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT  245 

day  morning  he  would  doubtless  be  fit  as  a  fiddle,  and 
seeing  all  things  once  more  in  their  proper  relations. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  when  Jim  reached  his  flat. 
He  threw  himself  into  a  big  chair  by  the  open  window, 
and  sat  there  without  stirring  for  a  long  time.  Finally 
he  rose  and  turned  on  the  light.  He  was  a  little  unsteady 
an  his  feet,  he  noted;  he  was  giddy,  too.  Then  he  re- 
membered that  he  hadn't  had  any  dinner.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  stood  still,  wondering  whether  he  shouldn't  go 
out  and  get  dinner.  But  the  thought  of  food  sickened 
him.  He  would  have  a  drink  or  two  instead,  partly  to 
celebrate  his  release,  and  partly  because  drink  might 
help  a  man  to  forget,  but  food  and  the  resuscitation  it 
brought  would  only  make  him  remember. 

It  should  be  a  celebration,  this  lonely  drinking-bout: 
it  should  mark  the  end  with  a  definite  mile-stone,  or,  say, 
with  a  holocaust.  He  would  like  to  burn  everything  up ; 
at  least  he  could  burn  the  physical  traces  of  everything. 
Jim  walked  unsteadily  about  his  living-room,  trying  to 
collect  in  one  place  all  his  relics  of  Zoe.  There  was  lit- 
tle enough  to  collect:  when  he  saw  how  little,  he  could 
have  wept.  It  wasn't  in  proportion :  to  devastate  a  man's 
life  and  then  leave  him  with  nothing  to  show  except 
three  or  four  notes  and  a  handful  of  reluctantly  treas- 
ured newspaper  clippings — it  wasn't  fair,  it  wasn't  gen- 
erous. 

Such  as  they  were,  however,  he  would  burn  his  relics : 
he  would  not  leave  even  this  much  of  Zoe  in  his  life. 
But  first  he  would  make  a  roaring  fire:  all  the  combus- 
tion of  which  his  little  grate  was  capable  would  really 
be  too  little  to  mark  fittingly  the  passing  of  Zoe.  He 
would  be  glad  of  a  fire,  anyway :  he  shivered  with  cold. 
He  had  been  so  burning  hot  this  afternoon:  it  was 


246  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

strange  that  he  who  had  so  burned  could  be  now  so 
chilly. 

He  got  his  fire  splendidly  alight;  it  burned  up  as  if 
it  knew  what  its  proud  destiny  should  be.  Only  one 
thing  now  remained  to  be  done  before  he  burned  his 
papers.  Jim  got  out  a  bottle  of  whiskey;  then  he  thought 
better  of  it,  and  produced  also  a  bottle  of  wine  and  two 
glasses.  "I'll  drink  your  health,  my  dear,  and  you  shall 
drink  mine,"  he  muttered.  "We  shall  part  as  friends, 
you  see." 

He  filled  both  glasses;  then  standing  before  his  splen- 
did fire,  he  raised  one  of  them.  His  mantle  was  old- 
fashioned,  and  had  a  mirror  set  in  it:  his  image  lifted 
its  glass  to  him.  As  they  stood  so  with  lifted  glasses 
Jim's  vision  cleared  suddenly :  he  saw  his  own  reflection 
well  and  minutely,  and  its  ghastly  face  startled  him.  He 
jumped,  and  dropped  the  glass.  It  was  shattered  on  the 
hearth-stone,  and  at  his  feet  the  spilled  wine  spread  and 
spread,  like  a  pool  of  blood. 

Jim  laughed  sillily,  and  stooped  to  pick  up  the  pieces 
of  broken  glass.  "I  seem  to  be  pretty  drunk  now,  be- 
fore I  have  touched  a  drop,"  he  thought. 

He  cleared  away  the  breakage,  and  mopped  up  the 
spilled  wine  as  carefully  as  if  his  life  depended  on  the 
excellence  of  the  job  he  made.  Stooping  increased  his 
giddiness;  he  had  to  hold  to  the  mantle  when  he  again 
stood  erect.  "Now,  once  more,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
reached  for  the  second  wine-glass. 

His  hand  shook,  and  a  little  of  the  wine  was  spilled. 
That  annoyed  him.  It  was  because  he  was  cold  that 
his  nerves  were  so  unsteady;  he  set  the  glass  on  the 
mantel,  and  put  his  hands  down  to  warm  them.  The 
fire  was  big  and  bright;  but  it  didn't  warm  him  any 
more  than  a  painted  fire  would  have.  With  chattering 


OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT  247 

teeth  he  huddled  closer  and  closer  to  it;  he  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  that  illusory  warmth  until  he  almost 
burned  them. 

He  felt  no  heat ;  yet  on  the  back  of  one  hand  the  heat 
he  could  not  feel  brought  out  two  marks,  as  if  they  had 
been  printed  there  in  invisible  ink  awaiting  develop- 
ment. In  fascination  Jim  watched  them  come,  horri- 
fied, but  unable  to  take  either  his  eyes  or  his  hand  away. 
Two  long  jagged  marks,  curving  concentrically;  he  had 
once  had  them  raw  upon  him,  doubtless,  but  he  couldn't 
seem  to  remember  how  they  got  there.  The  scar  was 
not  that  of  Zoe's  burn,  for  that  was  on  the  other  wrist, 
and  moreover  had  never  effaced  itself.  He  turned 
his  wrist  over  to  make  sure;  the  shiny  white  spot  was 
just  where  he  remembered  it.  This  wasn't  a  trace  of 
Jessica  Drummond's  kiss — no,  of  course  not:  kisses 
didn't  leave  traces,  even  when  they  were  mad  kisses. 
And  that  had  been  a  healing,  saving  kiss;  if  Jessica  were 
here  now,  to  kiss  him  like  that 

He  drifted  away  on  the  wrack  of  this  notion,  rose 
miles  in  the  ether,  and  came  back  to  reality  with  a  jerk. 
Suddenly  he  knew  what  that  mark  was ;  it  was  the  faded 
scar  of  the  Malay  woman's  teeth. 

A  blinding  light  seemed  to  come  over  Jim.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet,  lifted  his  glass,  and  shouted  aloud,  "Your 
health,  my  darling!"  His  own  voice  came  oddly  back 
to  him  from  the  confines  of  his  small  room ;  it  beat  upon 
his  ear-drums,  and  receded,  and  then  returned  and  beat 
again,  giving  him  a  curious  and  distinct  pleasure.  He 
felt  all  at  once  very  warm  and  very  strong,  and  perfectly 
happy :  he  had  never  been  so  happy  before.  He  drained 
his  glass  at  a  draught,  and  felt  the  gladdening  wine  warm 
within  him. 

Then  the  beating  in  his  ears  grew  louder,  grew  quite 


248  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

unbearably  loud,  so  that  he  covered  his  ears  with  his 
hands  to  stop  it.  The  room  whirled  about  him.  The 
walls  receded  to  an  immense  distance,  and  then  began 
to  close  in  upon  him;  and  the  speed  of  their  rotation 
grew  greater.  Closer  and  closer  they  came:  Jim  knew 
that  he  was  about  to  be  smothered  between  them.  He 
flung  out  his  arms,  to  keep  the  walls  away;  he  tried  to 
cry  for  help. 

He  must  indeed  have  cried  out ;  for  he  heard  his  own 
agonised  voice  above  the  beating  in  his  ears.  But  no 
one  came  to  him.  He  might  die  here  and  rot,  and  no 
one  would  come  to  him.  He  staggered  as  he  stood,  and 
tried  to  steady  himself :  he  remembered  those  papers  on 
the  table,  and  that  he  must  get  to  them  and  burn  them 
before  any  one  came.  He  took  an  uncertain  step,  and 
then  another.  At  first  he  was  relieved  to  find  that  he 
could  move ;  then  he  realised  despairingly  that  he  wasn't 
going  in  the  right  direction.  With  an  effort  that  seemed 
to  rend  his  being  he  faced  about ;  he  saw  the  table,  and 
distinguished  the  papers  on  it :  the  little  pile  of  clippings, 
the  four  notes  lying  by  themselves.  In  another  moment 
he  should  have  them;  and  the  smoke  of  their  burning 
would  be  incense  to  him  even  now. 

And  then,  with  victory  all  but  his,  he  swayed,  rooted 
to  the  spot  where  he  stood,  just  out  of  reach  of  the  table ; 
he  flung  out  his  arms  in  one  last  convulsive  effort,  and 
toppled  over  on  the  floor.  His  head  struck  the  hearth- 
stone, and  he  lay  still ;  and  where  he  had  carefully  sopped 
up  the  wine  a  few  minutes  before,  another  red  pool 
spread  and  spread. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  FI.ESH-POTS  OF  EGYPT 

THEY  must  actually  have  come  and  found  him  lying 
so,  instead  of  leaving  him  to  perish;  for  the  next 
thing  that  Jim  knew  he  was  in  a  hospital  bed,  and  a  very 
capable  nurse  had  charge  of  him.  She  kept  him  nicely 
packed  in  ice,  and  she  didn't  encourage  him  to  ask  ques- 
tions. She  wouldn't  even  answer  those  he  did  ask,  and 
of  course  he  didn't  ask  about  the  things  he  really  cared 
to  know  about:  only  how  long  he  had  been  there,  and 
when  he  should  get  out,  and  such  trash  as  that.  What 
he  really  wanted  to  know  was  whether  they  had  found 
those  papers  in  his  room,  those  meagre  notes  lying  by 
themselves,  those  fatuous  tell-tale  clippings ;  and  whether 
— they  must  know,  if  he  had  only  dared  to  ask  them — 
whether  Zoe  Lenox  had  yet  become  the  bride  of  her 
chosen  princeling. 

Jim  had  enough  to  do,  to  be  sure,  in  keeping  a  watch 
on  his  tongue.  His  first  moment  of  returning  conscious- 
ness was  followed,  he  knew,  by  times  when  he  lost  him- 
self. But  he  did  not  lose  himself  completely  enough  to 
talk.  A  burning  river  of  eloquence  was  dammed  up 
within  him,  a  mighty  impulse  to  favour  the  world  with 
a  store  of  wisdom  such  as  in  his  normal  moments  he 
wasn't  aware  of  having  seen  even  in  sages  and  saints, 
let  alone  having  accumulated  himself.  But  he  had  to 
keep  all  this  pent  up  within  him,  although  it  tortured 

249 


250  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

him  mightily.  He  knew  that  if  he  once  began  to  talk, 
her  dear,  her  execrated  name  would  sooner  or  later  pass 
his  lips;  and  it  mustn't,  it  mustn't.  The  world  would 
have  to  do  without  the  wisdom  he  could  have  taught  it; 
and  Jim  would  have  to  keep  it  to  himself,  though  it 
might  irk  him  ceaselessly. 

His  perceptions  of  outward  facts  were  vague  enough 
just  now ;  but  he  knew  that  he  must  be  lying  here  a  very 
long  time.  Many  days  went  by  just  alike,  in  a  sort  of 
scrambled  light  and  darkness,  a  dank  immobility  and  a 
horrid  effort  to  keep  himself  in  hand.  Then  he  must 
have  grown  better ;  for  silence  grew  easy  and  even  grate- 
ful to  him,  as  it  normally  was,  and  he  came  to  have  a 
sort  of  passive  affection  for  his  nurse,  who  kept  things  at 
bay  for  him. 

Later  still  he  began  to  wish  that  they  had  selected 
a  prettier  nurse — he  was  considerably  better  by  that  time. 
And  then  presently  shapes  of  people  passed  his  bed  in 
dim  review :  they  were  his  friends,  coming  to  "see"  him. 
His  partner  came  early  in  the  procession,  and  came  often 
thereafter:  the  alert  Stephen,  treading  softly,  as  one 
would  do  at  a  funeral,  and  making  inquiries  in  some 
embarrassment.  His  brothers  came,  dutiful  and  bored, 
and  some  at  least  of  his  brothers'  wives.  Stuart  Eving- 
ton  came  several  times,  usually  with  June  in  attendance. 
Once,  along  near  the  end,  he  brought  Jessica  Drummond 
instead.  Jim  found  himself  unexpectedly  alive  to  Jes- 
sica's presence,  doubtless  because  it  was  a  surprise,  and 
perhaps  also  because  she  was  looking  very  pretty,  and 
sparkled  in  the  strait  room  like  running  water  brought 
suddenly  into  a  prison. 

Yes,  he  must  be  better,  or  they  wouldn't  be  letting  all 
these  people  come  to  see  him.  Jim  could  feel,  too,  that 
he  was  getting  better:  His  strength  was  returning,  his 


THE  FLESH-POTS  OF  EGYPT  251 

perceptions  were  becoming  sharper.  He  didn't  much 
care  in  general  whether  he  got  better  or  not:  only  he 
hated  to  think  of  leaving  this  hospital  room.  When  he 
did  leave  it,  he  would  have  to  connect  with  ordinary  life 
again;  and  such  connections  were  a  wrench  upon  the 
spirit,  and  didn't  do  a  man  much  good  anyway — as  wit- 
ness Jim's  painfully  wrought  connection  after  his  cruise 
in  the  Helga.  They  were  made  only  to  be  ruptured. 
You  had  to  make  them,  for  very  shame's  sake,  but  they 
didn't  benefit  you.  It  was  better  to  lie  here  and  watch 
the  sunlight  creep  up  the  white  wall. 

When  Jim  actually  got  out  of  the  hospital  it  was  late 
summer,  with  a  hint  of  fall  already  in  the  air.  He  had 
nothing  now  to  hope  or  fear:  long  ere  this,  Zoe  must 
have  espoused  her  princeling.  He  hadn't  heard  of  the 
fact,  but  he  almost  fervently  hoped  she  had.  He  was 
weary  of  the  whole  subject. 

After  his  first  few  days  back  in  the  world,  Jim  found 
himself  rather  eager  to  crawl  back  to  life.  He  even 
resisted  well-meant  attempts  to  get  him  farther  to  post- 
pone his  connecting  with  the  affairs  of  every  day.  The 
doctor  advised  a  change;  and  his  partner  seconded  the 
doctor's  efforts.  Jim  laughed  at  them  both. 

Stephen  even  argued  the  matter  with  him,  in  his 
kindly,  shrewd,  rather  preoccupied  way.  "You've  had  a 
close  call,  Jim,"  he  urged,  speaking  casually  on  his  way 
out  of  the  other's  office,  to  avoid  all  appearance  of  the 
sentimental.  "Of  course  you  gave  your  head  an  awful 
knock;  if  it  hadn't  been  hard  to  begin  with,  you  would 
scarcely  have  survived.  And  lying  there  so  long  with- 
out attention  didn't  do  you  any  good.  But  the  doctor 
says  the  real  trouble  is  that  you  were  in  poor  condition 
to  begin  with.  Hadn't  you  better  be  sensible,  Jim?  Be 
sensible,  and  do  something  about  it," 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"I've  done  something  already,  Stephen.  I've  for- 
sworn the  follies  of  youth,"  said  Jim,  smiling. 

Stephen  smiled  too,  but  he  looked  doubtful.  "That's 
all  the  better,  of  course,"  he  remarked.  "Or  it  would  be, 
if  it  were  true." 

"It's  true  enough,  in  an  inverted  way,"  Jim  assured 
him.  "It  is  my  youth  that  has  given  me  up.  I'm  going 
to  forswear  tennis,  and  take  to  collecting  prints;  and  in 
a  year  or  so  more,  now,  I  shall  be  a  very  nice  old  gen- 
tleman, and  more  than  a  little  of  an  old  fogy." 

That,  of  course,  was  mere  talk ;  and  yet  it  was  not  so 
very  far  beyond  the  truth.  Tennis  was  now  out  of  the 
question;  and  although  collecting  prints  was  not  yet  in 
it,  Jim  could  already  feel  himself  settling  by  degrees  to 
a  prim,  permanent  bachelorhood.  Already  he  had  a  sharp 
foretaste  of  the  condition  that  might  some  day  be  his. 
He  tired  easily  these  days ;  and  when  he  was  once  tired, 
it  was  hard  for  him  to  become  completely  rested.  This 
deviation  from  the  normal  worried  Jim  more  than  he 
cared  to  admit  In  vain  he  told  himself  that  it  was  tem- 
porary, and  under  the  circumstances  altogether  to  be 
expected.  He  could  not  reason  himself  out  of  chafing 
at  his  own  weakness.  It  was  extreme  calamity  to  have 
one's  mind  fly  all  to  bits,  and  perhaps  beside  it  nothing 
else  ought  to  have  mattered :  but  the  humiliation  of  the 
body  still  rankled. 

His  illness,  Jim  found,  had  at  least  passed  a  sponge 
over  some  hitherto  all  too  legible  matters  in  his  past; 
and  if  he  were  not  yet  exactly  in  full  mental  health,  he 
had  at  any  rate  come  to  desire  health.  He  had  got  back 
much  of  his  old  interest  in  his  business,  and  found  solid 
satisfaction  in  "boning  away  at  it,"  to  use  his  own 
phrase.  He  bought  a  new  car  late  in  the  fall,  to  keep 
him  in  the  open  air  as  much  as  possible;  and  with  it  he 


THE  FLESH-POTS  OF  EGYPT  258 

indulged  in  a  series  of  petty  explorations  which  dis- 
tracted and  delighted  him.  And  without  ever  thinking 
the  thing  out  to  the  point  of  deliberate  intention,  as  natu- 
rally as  a  heifer  turns  to  grass,  and  as  inevitably,  Jim 
sought  a  woman  who  should  help  him  to  forget  the  other 
woman. 

It  wasn't  that  he  intended  to  fall  in  love  again.  He 
couldn't  have  fallen  in  love  now  if  he  had  tried;  and 
remembering  his  recent  sufferings,  he  had  no  mind  to 
try.  But  in  his  present  state  a  feminine  atmosphere  was 
almost  necessary  to  him.  His  relaxed  nerves  made  him 
crave  things  all  soft  and  silken,  required  to  be  discreetly 
sympathised  with  .and  delicately  ministered  to.  He  was 
in  the  condition  in  which  many  a  man  is  married :  where 
without  his  having  ceased  for  a  moment  to  love  another 
woman,  he  is  caught,  as  the  saying  is,  on  the  rebound. 
And  yet  what  Jim,  in  common  with  other  men  in  this 
state,  desired  was  not  a  woman,  but  woman. 

He  might  have  been  expected  at  this  crisis  to  turn 
naturally  to  June  Evington.  She  had  long  supplied  him 
with  feminine  atmosphere,  at  no  cost  of  consequence 
or  remorse  to  either  of  them ;  she  was  the  woman  whom 
he  knew  best,  better  actually  than  he  had  ever  known 
Zoe ;  and  she  had  just  the  sort  of  charm  which  Jim  now 
desired. 

But  June  was  just  now  at  a  crisis  of  her  own.  She 
had  married  Evington  when  she  left  boarding-school, 
and  had  become  the  mother  of  four  children  in  rapid 
succession;  she  had  taken  her  life  calmly  and  sunnily, 
apparently  with  no  question  as  to  whether  all  other 
women's  lives  were  the  same.  But  now  she  had  wearied 
of  the  domestic  atmosphere,  and  of  the  responsibilities 
she  had  so  simply  assumed :  she  had  gone  in  at  a  gallop 
for  gaiety  and  stir,  and  very  likely  for  flirtation  as  well. 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

It  was  a  mild  enough  crisis,  as  such  things  go:  Stuart 
Evington  recognised  that  at  the  time,  even  at  the  height 
of  his  own  annoyance.  But  it  barred  out  Jim,  with  his 
sick  longing  to  be  soothed. 

There  were  plenty  of  girls  in  Jim's  circle  of  acquaint- 
ance, pretty  girls,  charming  girls,  girls  refreshing  in 
their  gaiety  and  youth.  But  their  very  freshness  made 
them  distasteful  to  Jim  just  now :  he  wanted  something 
more  seasoned  and  subdued,  something  that  didn't  fling 
its  strident  youth  in  your  face,  something  too  that  didn't 
look  on  every  bachelor  as  an  eligible,  and  expect  him 
sooner  or  later  to  propose  for  its  hand,  if  only  to  show 
that  he  appreciated  its  charm. 

He  finally  sought  his  solace  at  the  hands  of  Jessica 
Drummond.  It  wasn't  because  he  and  she  had  much  of 
the  past  in  common :  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  never 
known  her  so  very  well.  And  in  view  of  the  chief  thing 
he  knew  about  her,  the  thing  she  had  so  naively  and  so 
finally  revealed  to  him  that  afternoon  among  the  Chi- 
nese porcelains,  it  would  have  been  better,  or  at  least  in 
better  taste,  for  him  to  have  stayed  away  from  her. 
But  Jim  wasn't  thinking  of  taste,  wasn't  deliberately 
choosing  a  line  of  conduct.  In  a  world  that  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  gone  empty,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
something  that  sparkled  and  allured ;  and  before  he  had 
time  to  think,  he  was  following  that  allure.  Afterward 
he  saw  no  particular  reason  to  think,  and  gladly  availed 
himself  of  the  immunity:  hadn't  he  sought  refuge  here 
actually  to  keep  from  thinking? 

Jessica  had  at  this  time  a  kitchenette  flat,  and  was  liv- 
ing alone  and  very  quietly.  She  had  both  a  spiritual 
and  an  economic  urge  to  quietness,  although  it  did  not 
occur  to  Jim  to  suspect  the  second :  she  was  living  well 
within  her  means.  "I'd  better,  you  know,"  she  one  day 


THE  FLESH-POTS  OF  EGYPT  255 

told  June  Evington,  in  a  burst  of  confidence.  "For  if 
poor  old  Sam  were  to  get  an  apoplexy,  where  would 
my  alimony  be?" 

Her  quietness  allowed  Jim  readier  access  to  her:  she 
was  always  at  home.  The  simplicity  of  her  accommoda- 
tions gave  them  a  sort  of  intimacy  to  start  with.  Under 
the  circumstances,  it  needed  only  acceptance  on  her  part 
and  the  passage  of  time  to  make  them  really  intimate. 

Intimate  was  what  they  soon  became.  During  the 
winter  Jim  passed  from  an  occasional  call  to  a  custom 
of  spending  three  or  four  evenings  a  week  at  her  flat. 
In  between  he  dined  and  drove  her.  She  frankly  loved 
the  dinners:  doing  her  own  housework  had  given  her  a 
fine  appreciation  of  cooking  not  her  own.  She  liked  the 
drives,  too:  entered  into  the  spirit  of  his  petty  explora- 
tions, and  proved  herself  an  explorer,  too,  and  more  in- 
ventive and  adventurous  than  he.  Always  she  fitted  into 
his  plans;  always  she  supplied  him  with  just  what  he 
needed,  and  demanded  nothing  at  all,  and  enjoyed  what 
he  chose  to  give  her.  She  was  curiously  unlike  her  old 
self  as  Jim  remembered  her — unless  she  were  somehow 
transcending  herself  just  now. 

It  was  in  their  evenings  at  her  flat,  however,  that 
she  shone  most.  Out  of  the  simplest  materials,  out  of 
herself,  fairly,  she  constructed  the  hours  that  were  at 
once  the  highest  reward  and  the  strangest  manifestation 
of  their  friendship,  hours  the  recollection  of  which  some- 
times came  over  him  in  after  years  like  a  whiff  of  per- 
fume. 

The  evenings  were  much  alike.  Jim  would  come  to 
her  straight  from  his  dinner,  and  would  find  her  estab- 
lished by  the  lamp  in  her  diminutive  living-room.  She 
would  have  her  sewing  in  her  lap,  perhaps:  she  made 
some  of  her  own  clothes  now.  He  would  inquire  about 


256  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

the  sewing,  and  together  they  would  laugh  over  her 
awkwardness  with  her  needle,  while  he  privately  ad- 
mired the  pluck  that  kept  her  awkwardly  at  it.  Then  he 
would  tell  her  about  his  day's  doings;  and  very  likely 
after  that  he  would  read  aloud  to  her  for  a  couple 
of  hours;  and  they  would  both  interrupt  the  reading  to 
discuss  what  they  read. 

That  reading,  so  hugely  uncharacteristic  of  the  old 
Jessica,  revealed  much  about  the  new.  She  never  used 
to  read ;  but  in  the  pause  that  followed  her  flare-up  with 
Sam  she  had  been  driven  to  it  from  sheer  ennui.  Then 
she  had  discovered  her  own  ignorance — "How  ignorant 
one  can  be,  and  still  be  received  in  civilised  society, 
Jim!" — and  also  her  very  keen  intellectual  curiosity. 
And  she  had  read  and  read:  everything  from  Dickens 
upward.  Jim  knew  so  much,  and  could  tell  her  so  many 
things  to  read,  that  she  was  glad  to  follow  him  as  his 
disciple;  and  Jim  on  his  side  was  mightily  interested  to 
see  how  her  mind  took  hold  of  things. 

"George,  but  you  are  quick!"  he  remarked  once. 

"I  ought  to  be — I'm  starving,"  she  said  with  a  laugh. 

She  would  take  the  book  from  him,  if  he  tired;  or  she 
would  bend  over  her  sewing  as  he  read,  or  occasionally 
light  a  cigarette,  or  just  frankly  listen  with  her  hands  in 
her  lap.  And  then  very  likely  they  would  have  some 
sandwiches  and  beer,  or  even  popcorn  and  apples;  and 
then  they  would  talk  for  another  hour.  And  so  she 
would  send  him  home  to  sound  sleep,  refreshed  and 
soothed;  and  he  would  come  back  the  next  evening,  or 
at  farthest  the  one  after. 

This  intimacy,  especially  considering  its  bookish  char- 
acter, might  well  have  recalled  to  Jim  other  days  and 
another  reader;  but  somehow  it  didn't.  It  had  once  or 
twice,  to  be  sure,  just  at  first.  But  Jim  made  up  his 


THE  FLESH-POTS  OF  EGYPT  257 

mind  that  this  at  least  was  a  pleasure  which  he  wasn't 
going  to  have  spoiled  by  mental  references  to  his  lost, 
and  it  was  to  be  hoped  forgotten,  Antigone.  This  one 
pleasant  interlude  he  would  keep  for  himself. 

And  then  one  evening  he  kissed  Jessica.  It  was  just 
as  he  was  bidding  her  good-night  at  her  door :  she  stood 
with  her  gay  little  face,  which  never  lost  its  native  sauci- 
ness,  upturned  to  him,  and  the  gay  little  smile  that  she 
could  always  show  him  parted  her  lips.  He  took  her 
face  between  his  hands,  and  kissed  her  smiling. 

It  was  but  the  shadow  of  an  embrace,  after  all,  for 
she  slipped  at  once  away  from  him ;  but  he  saw  that  her 
lips  were  now  trembling.  "There,  there,  Jim!"  she  said 
hastily. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Jessica.  That  was  nasty  of  me, 
and  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  Jim  apologised,  rather  too 
sincerely. 

"It's — all  right.  I  don't  mind,"  she  said  slowly;  and 
he  felt  more  ashamed  of  himself. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  if  you  really  forgive  me,"  he 
said. 

She  gave  it  unhesitatingly ;  and  Jim  kept  it  as  he  went 
on,  "I  meant  to  behave  myself  for  a  long,  long  time. 
It's  the  least  I  can  do,  when  you  are  so  sweet  to  me, 
letting  me  come  here  like  this  and  all.  But  now  that 
this  much  has  slipped  out,  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
Some  day,  when  I've  got  the  last  trace  of — fever  out  of 
my  system,  I  want  to  have  a  serious  talk  with  you." 

She  had  recovered  some  of  her  native  flippancy. 
"Don't,  Jim,"  she  said.  "Don't,  for  it  would  be  the  end 
of  all  things." 

"Things  must  end,  you  know,"  he  urged.  "How  they 
end  is  what  makes  the  difference." 

"Yes,  perhaps,  though  it  doesn't  seem  so  to  me.    Any- 


258  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

way,  we  won't  speak  of  that,  to-night,"  said  Jessica. 

"No,  indeed  we  won't,"  he  answered.  "And  thank 
you  for  your  forbearance,  Jessica.  I'm  a  brute,  but  at 
least  I  know  it." 

"No,  you're  not  a  brute.  But  please  remember,  an- 
other time.  Good-night,  Jim,"  she  said. 

He  felt  like  a  brute,  as  he  started  on  his  drive  home. 
He  must  have  given  Jessica  a  nice  idea  of  what  men  were 
like:  silly  beasts,  only  waiting  while  you  trusted  them 
for  a  better  chance  to  display  their  beastly  silliness.  And 
then  he  remembered  how  she  had  looked  at  him  with  her 
lips  trembling;  and  although  the  remembrance  surely 
ought  to  have  made  him  feel  much  worse,  it  made  him, 
on  the  contrary,  feel  a  great  deal  better. 

He  was  simply  passing  slowly  back  to  an  idea  that 
had  been  his  months  before.  Only  now  he  was  going 
to  Jessica  because  he  liked  her,  because  he  wished  to  be 
with  her;  and  then  he  had  been  ashamed  because  he 
wanted  to  go  to  her  only  in  the  magnanimity  of  his 
spirit.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  he  would  go  in  all  hu- 
mility. He  couldn't  give  her  what  she  doubtless  had  a 
right  to  expect,  in  view  of  what  he  meant  to  ask.  But 
he  could  give  her  his  comparative  decency,  and  his  devo- 
tion, and  his  need  of  her ;  and  perhaps  he  might  come,  in 
some  distant  sweet  conclusion,  to  feel  that  all  the  past, 
even  to  its  most  smashing  feature,  had  worked  together 
for  the  production  of  good  to  that  blundering  brute,  Jim 
Whittaker. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MANNA 

OF  course,  Jim  experienced  a  violent  reaction  from 
that  evening's  pleasing  certitude:  went  through  a 
storm  of  the  old  passion,  a  whirl  of  recollection,  a  period 
of  sick  disgust  with  things  as  they  were.  Then  he 
steadied  again,  realised  that  to  cry  for  the  moon  was 
simply  human  nature,  and  reflected  that  a  man  had  still 
his  life  to  live,  and  to  live  if  possible  in  accordance 
with  some  vague  idea  of  what  befitted  a  man,  even  if 
he  did  have  to  stop  sometimes  and  disgrace  himself  by 
howling. 

Jessica  Drummond  seemed  to  make  nothing  of  the 
incident  of  his  kiss;  he  might  have  supposed  from  her 
demeanour  that  it  had  somehow  slipped  her  mind.  He 
couldn't  quite  suppose  that;  and  was  driven  to  feel  that 
she  was  ignoring  it,  so  that  it  shouldn't  spoil  their  rela- 
tion. He  discovered  in  those  days  a  steadily  growing 
respect  for  her  power  of  living  only  in  the  present,  of 
ignoring  anything  that  seemed  to  threaten  a  smiling  now. 
That  must  be  a  distinctively  feminine  power.  At  any 
rate,  Jim  had  nothing  like  it  himself;  and  he  seemed  to 
recollect  that  Zoe  had.  Zoe  had  been  happy  in  the 
shadow  of  imminent  death,  and  he  hadn't.  Well,  that 
was  a  long  time  ago:  why,  in  those  days  he  had  still 
been  of  the  opinion  that  Jessica  Drummond  was  an  in- 
significant little  nonentity! 

259 


260  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

They  were  sitting  together  in  her  living-room  one 
evening  in  early  spring.  It  was  very  warm  for  the  sea- 
son, and  they  had  the  window  open  for  air.  They 
could  hear  the  pleasant  familiar  hum  of  the  city  below 
them,  that  running  accompaniment  which  a  true  city- 
dweller  so  misses  when  he  must  leave  it;  and  Jim  had 
been  reading  aloud,  quite  as  usual.  He  had  glanced  at 
her  oftener  than  usual,  though.  She  made  no  pretence 
of  occupation  to-night;  she  sat  with  her  hands  in  her 
lap,  or  flung  one  arm  over  the  back  of  her  little  chair,  or 
picked  up  some  small  article  from  the  table  and  played 
with  it.  She  was  always  a  little  unquiet;  it  would  not 
have  been  Jessica  if  she  had  actually  sat  still.  She 
looked  very  pretty  to-night,  in  her  little  black  dress  and 
string  of  dark  coral  beads,  with  a  rose  to  match  them 
pinned  at  her  girdle :  there  was  such  soft  deep  colour  in 
her  cheeks,  and  her  dark  hair  clustered  so  charmingly 
about  her  little  ears. 

He  laid  the  book  on  the  table  presently.  Jessica  be- 
gan some  remark  about  what  he  had  just  read,  and 
stopped  midway»  There  was  just  a  second  of  silence; 
and  then,  without  preface  or  hesitation,  Jim  asked  her 
to  marry  him. 

Jessica  was  quiet  for  a  moment;  then  she  looked  at 
him,  and  smiled  her  usual  smile,  and  spoke.  "That's 
sweet  of  you,  Jim.  It's  really  doubly  sweet  of  you,  be- 
cause you  aren't  in  love  with  me." 

"Aren't  men  usually  in  love  with  the  women  they  ask 
to  marry  them?"  he  countered. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  said.  "I  think  that  very  few 
women  are  ever  actually  loved.  However,  that  isn't 
what  interests  us.  You  simply  aren't  in  love  with  me, 
and  I  recognise  it." 

"Recognise  all  you  like,   but  be  careful  you  don't 


MANNA  261 

recognise  too  much,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  a  poet,  Jessica ; 
I  can't  make  very  exciting  love  to  you.  I  wish  I  could ; 
but  if  you  can  get  along  without,  perhaps  you  will  find 
that  I'll  make  you  rather  a  good  husband." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  she  cried,  impulsively  put- 
ting out  her  hand  to  him ;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Yet 
he  had  no  sooner  seized  her  hand  than  she  laughed  and 
said,  "It  won't  do,  though.  I'm  going  to  keep  my  beau- 
tiful faith  in  you;  it  has  been  priceless  to  me.  I'm  going 
to  keep  it,  by  not  putting  it  to  the  test." 

"That's  a  shameful  way  to  keep  anything,"  declared 
Jim  rather  hotly. 

"Oh,  I  know  that,  my  dear!  I  know  that.  But  it's 
better  than  not  keeping  it  at  all.  I'm  not  so  young  as 
I  once  was,  and  my  illusions  are  pretty  well  shattered. 
One  or  two  of  them  I  choose  to  keep,  Jim,  even  if  to 
keep  them  I  have  to  put  them  under  glass." 

"You  don't  trust  me  very  much,  do  you?"  asked  Jim, 
letting  go  her  hand. 

"I  don't  trust  life,"  she  said  simply.  "And  I  know 
myself,  you  see.  I'm  a  little  rotten  at  the  core,  Jim. 
There  was  a  time  when  you  recognised  my  rottenness. 
Oh,  yes  there  was,  even  if  you  don't  care  to  remember 
it!  I've  been  lifted  a  bit  above  myself  the  last  year  or 
two,  that's  all." 

"Then  go  on  lifting,"  said  Jim  eagerly.  "I  mean — 
what  did  you  mean  when  you  said  you  had  been 
lifted ?" 

"Just  what  you  thought  I  meant,  Jim.  I've  loved  you, 
and  it  has  helped  me.  Through  it  I've  got  a  bit  above 
myself." 

"Then  if  that's  true,  don't  you  see,  it  ought  to  be 
shoulder  to  shoulder  for  you  and  me  from  this  time 
on?"  he  asked. 


262 

She  shook  her  head.  "If  I  had  come  to  you  when 
I  was  young,  I  might  always  have  lived  up  to  you.  But 
the  mark  of  the  beast  is  on  me  now." 

"That's  nonsense,"  said  Jim  sharply.  "It's  nonsense 
from  every  point  of  view.  I'm  not  different  from  any 
other  man,  Jessica.  If  anything  has  been  done  for  you, 
your  own  feeling  has  done  it,  and  not  any  Jim  Whit- 
taker  of  them  all." 

"You're  arguing  on  my  side  now,  logical  male!"  she 
said  merrily.  "It's  exactly  my  'feeling'  that  I  want  to 
keep,  and  you  want  me  to  exchange  it  for  a  flesh  and 
blood  Jim  Whittaker." 

"Well,  it's  more  or  less  futile  to  argue  these  matters," 
he  said.  "It's  a  question,  of  course,  of  how  you  happen 
to  feel  on  the  subject.  But  the  practical  point  is,  do  you 
care  to  be  my  wife,  or  don't  you  ?" 

"I  can't  ever  be.    I  care  too  much,"  she  said  softly. 

"You  exquisite,  wrong-headed  woman,  do  you  know 
what  you're  doing  to  me?"  he  asked.  "You're  turning 
me  out  in  the  cold.  Mine  was  such  a  nice  solution  of 
existing  complications,  too.  Don't  you  see  how  nice?" 

Jessica  smiled  upon  him.  "Indeed,  I  do  see.  I  think 
that  that  was  what  gave  you  the  idea  in  the  first  place. 
But  perhaps  that  is  another  thing  we  would  better  not 
argue,  Jim." 

"We  won't  argue  it,"  agreed  Jim.  "But  let  me  oay 
my  despised  idea  this  tribute " 

"Yes?" 

"If  we  don't  marry  each  other,  what  becomes  of 
us?" 

w  "Ah,  your  idea  has  that  much  point,  Jim;  I  admit  it 
freely.  If  we  married,  that  would  dispose  of  us,  at  least 
for  a  time.  No,  don't  interrupt.  I  didn't  mean  to  be 
cheap.  I'll  say  for  all  time,  if  you  like.  But  as  we 


MANNA  263 

shan't  marry, — why,  we'll  get  along  reasonably  well, 
both  of  us.  You  will  always  be  yourself,  married  or 
single,  your  own  honest  self,  Jim.  I  hope  that  some 
day  you  will  marry,  marry  some  one  much  nicer  than 
I — or  even  if  she  isn't  any  nicer,  some  one  you  think 
more  of  than  you  do  of  me.  That's  the  point,  isn't  it, 
your  thinking  of  her?  I  do  honestly  hope  that  you  will 
marry  such  a  woman,  though  I  never  could  promise  to 
dance  at  your  wedding.  As  for  me " 

The  beautiful  tenderness  went  out  of  her  eyes;  and  it 
was  in  rather  a  hard  voice  that  she  continued,  "As  for 
me,  I  may  go  on  as  I  am.  I  hope  I  shall.  But  it  may 
not  be  possible.  Anyhow,  I  can  find  some  opening: 
there  always  is  an  opening,  if  one  isn't  too  particular. 
If  worse  comes  to  worst,  I  suppose  I  can  go  back  to 
Sam  Drummond.  He's  been  making  overtures  to  me 
lately.  I  think  that  in  his  own  way  he  actually  misses 
me." 

Jim  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  At  the  sight  of  his 
face  Jessica  broke  into  merry  laughter,  though  it  seemed 
to  him  on  thinking  it  over  afterward  that  she  had  been 
just  a  little  hurt  by  his  taking  her  remark  seriously,  even 
for  a  moment.  "I  haven't  any  actual  intention  of  doing 
that,  Jim,"  she  said.  "Sam  never  has  been  able  to 
fathom  my  leaving  him,  though :  in  his  own  eyes  he  was 
no  worse  than  other  men,  and  he  had  always  taken  it 
for  granted  that  I  agreed  with  him.  In  one  way,  to  be 
sure,  he  wasn't  so  far  wrong:  in  a  numerical  way,  I 
mean.  There  are  plenty  of  Sam  Drummonds  in  this 
world,  Jim.  But  I'm  not  fearful  now  of  any  or  all  of 
them.  Actually  I  have  a  strange  feeling  as  if  nothing 
could  touch  me  now.  Even  if  there  were  another  Sam 
as  the  most  prominent  feature  in  my  life,  that  couldn't 
touch  me.  Perhaps  you  don't  see " 


264  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"I  see,  Jessica;  but  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  put  that 
sweet  faith  to  the  test,"  said  Jim,  turning  his  back  and 
walking  across  the  room. 

"I  haven't  much  idea  that  I  shall,  Jim.  I  suppose  that 
my  fate  in  this  world  will  really  be  somewhat  indetermi- 
nate," she  said. 

"An  indeterminate  fate  is  the  last  thing  I  should  ever 
have  expected  of  you,"  said  Jim  over  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  she  agreed.  "But  lately  I've  had  just 
those  things  that  I  never  did  expect  to  have." 

"Have  you  missed  those  you  never  expected  to  miss?" 
he  asked,  wheeling  to  face  her. 

"I  haven't  missed  much,"  she  said.  "Lately  I've  had 
two  great  luxuries." 

"Do  you  want  to  tell  me  what  they  were?" 

"If  you  care  to  listen,  I  think  I  should  rather  like  to." 

Jim  resumed  his  chair,  and  she  went  on,  not  looking 
exactly  at  him,  yet  not  looking  too  pointedly  away  from 
him,  "The  first  of  them,  of  course,  was  loving  you. 
You  might  have  guessed  that,  mightn't  you?  The  sec- 
ond, and  for  me  almost  the  greater  of  the  two,  was  not 
expecting  to  get  anything  out  of  it.  You  must  remem- 
ber how  I  was  brought  up,  Jim,  and  how  I  had  always 
lived;  you  must  remember  what  idle,  luxury-loving 
women  are  like,  and  you  must  know  that  in  time  they 
learn  to  expect  something  from  everything.  They  never 
enter  any  relation  without  figuring,  consciously  or  un- 
consciously, what  they  can  get  out  of  it." 

"Aren't  you  a  little  hard?" 

"Perhaps  I  am.  Perhaps  we're  always  hard  in  our 
judgments  of  anything  we  have  succeeded  even  partially 
in  sloughing  off.  But  go  back  a  little.  What  did  you 
think  of  me  when  you  first  knew  me?  You  thought,  I 
believe,  that  it  was  strange  such  an  embodiment  of  the 


MANNA  265 

domestic  virtues  a£  June  Evington  could  care  to  keep  up 
her  acquaintance  with  such  a  calculating  beggar  as  me. 
Isn't  that  so?" 

"I  don't  remember  that  it  is." 

"It  is,  even  if  you  are  too  polite  to  remember  it.  And 
it  is  in  view  of  all  that,  you  see,  that  my  second  luxury 
has  so  particularly  counted  with  me.  To  have  you  come 
to  me  as  you  have  come  this  winter,  and  to  feel  that  I 
could  help  you — oh,  ever  so  little!  and  yet  I  did  help 
you — you  see  what  it  must  have  been  to  me,  Jim?" 

"I  see;  I  see  that  perfectly.  What  I  don't  see  is  the 
bearing  this  has  on  what  I  asked  you  about  a  little  while 
ago." 

"You  can't  ?  You  actually  can't  see  that  to  reward  me 
as  you  have  proposed  would  be  to  deprive  me  at  a  blow 
of  both  my  luxuries  ?" 

"That's  nonsense,  Jessica — that  talk  of  rewarding." 

"I  withdraw  the  word,  then,  if  it  hurts  you.  But  you 
will  admit  that  for  a  person  of  my  temperament  and 
upbringing  my  transcendent  luxuries  may  well  weigh 
more  in  the  scale  than  a — forgive  me  Tim, — than  a  nice 
husband?" 

"I  will  admit  anything  you  like,  Jessica;  I  can  see 
anything  you  have  yet  asked  me  to  see.  But  you  can't 
make  me  believe  that  you  are  refusing  me  for  any  such 
refinement  of  sentiment  as  you  have  set  forth." 

She  grew  a  little  pale  at  that;  but  her  eyes  met  his 
steadily  for  a  moment.  "No,  you're  right,"  she  said. 
"All  that  I  have  said  is  true;  it's  a  real  motive,  too,  if  it's 
not  my  chief  one.  But,  of  course,  the  reason  I  am  re- 
fusing you,  the  actual  fundamental  reason,  is  that  I'm 
not  good  enough  for  you." 

"Not  good  enough  for  me !"  exclaimed  Jim,  genuinely 
horrified.  "Not  good  enough  for  me !  You  don't  know 


266  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

what  you're  talking  about,  Jessica  Drummond!  Why, 
even  now " 

Her  hand  fell  lightly  on  his  mouth,  lightly,  but  effec- 
tively enough  to  muffle  farther  conversation.  "Never 
mind,  I  don't  want  to  know,"  said  Jessica  promptly.  "I 
don't  want  to  hear  any  unpleasant  facts,  Jim,  if  there  are 
any.  You  see  I'm  a  poor  thing,  and  I  doubt  my  own 
ability  to  face  facts.  But  I  do  know  that  in  all  essential 
respects  you  are  too  good  for  me.  I  know  that.  I 
know  it." 

Jim  kissed  her  restraining  hand,  seized  and  kissed  the 
other.  Then  he  kept  them  both  in  his  as  he  said,  "Really, 
Jessica,  you  are  too  good  to  be  true.  I  have  a  mind  to 
thank  you  for  your  exquisite  goodness  by  continuing  to 
come  back  here  and  claim  your  kindness." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  if  you  only  would !"  she  cried.  "Fear 
that  you  mightn't  has  been  the  only  thing  that  has 
marred  my  enjoyment  lately — and  the  only  thing  that 
has  impelled  me  toward  snatching  you,  Jim." 

"I  wish  it  had  impelled  a  little  farther.  But  as  it 
hasn't,  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  continue 
the  past." 

"Only  so  long,"  she  stipulated,  "as  it  is  really  grateful 
to  you." 

"Well,  only  so  long  as  it  is  grateful  to  us  both,"  he 
agreed. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Jim  Whittaker  ended  that 
evening  apparently  with  every  value  in  his  life  un- 
changed, and  yet  somehow  with  a  great  deal  to  think 
about.  He  was,  however,  blissfully  indisposed  to  think 
just  then.  He  meditated  a  little,  to  be  sure,  on  the 
surface  irony  of  his  golden  virgin  who  was  neither 
chaste  nor  generous,  and  his  gipsy  divorcee  who  was 
both.  But  that  irony  was  too  shallow  to  be  disturbing; 


MANNA  267 

or  perhaps  it  was  simply  that  to-night  Jim  was  not  dis- 
turbed by  it.  For  the  imperious  devils  that  had  come  of 
late  years  to  live  in  his  brain  had  all  gone  to  sleep  to- 
night, instead  of  chasing  each  other  as  was  their  wont 
in  their  silly  unending  round.  A  woman  had  lulled  them 
now,  as  another  woman  had  in  the  beginning  set  them 
going  in  their  long  mad  dance.  So  he  was  led  to  believe 
that  the  same  thing  which  maddens  may  also  save:  that 
love,  which  devours,  can  also  make  whole. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PRINCE   COPHETUA 

JIM  stayed  in  town  all  that  next  spring  and  summer; 
and  he  packed  his  partner  off  for  a  two  months' 
vacation.  Stephen  protested,  but  his  wife  and  Jim  both 
insisted;  and  he  finally  gave  in,  and  left  Jim  to  run  the 
business.  He  was  outwardly  satisfied,  once  he  had  given 
in:  there  was  no  niggardliness  about  Stephen.  But  he 
may  well  have  had  his  compunctions:  Jim  was  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world,  according  to  his  way  of  thinking, 
but  he  needed  an  eye  always  upon  him,  the  eye  of  an 
older  man,  and,  Stephen  fondly  believed,  a  steadier. 

Nobody  could  have  been  steadier,  however,  than  Jim 
was  in  these  days.  He  was  delighted,  to  begin  with,  by 
what  his  partner's  absence  allowed  him  to  clearly  see.  He 
had  always  rather  supposed  that  he  himself  stood  pas- 
sively between  the  shafts,  while  the  business  was  pulled 
heartily  forward  by  the  more  aggressive  Stephen.  But 
now  he  found  that  he  knew  his  business,  and  liked  his 
business,  and,  applying  the  true  American  touch-stone, 
could  get  results  from  his  business.  And  his  results  led 
him  to  the  not  unpleasing  conclusion  that,  although  he 
might  not  die  a  rich  man  according  to  New  York  stand- 
ards, he  was  even  now  becoming  a  well-to-do  man,  ac- 
cording to  any  standard  that  you  pleased. 

He  still  went  to  see  Jessica  Drummond,  as  he  had 
promised  that  he  would,  although  perhaps  his  visits 

268 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  269 

were  falling  off  in  frequency.  Her  influence,  his  hard 
work,  his  pleasure  at  his  own  success,  all  combined  to 
restore  him  to  vigour  and  sanity.  He  would  always  carry 
the  scar  of  what  had  been,  of  course,  and  a  vague  regret 
for  what  might  have  been.  Sometimes,  too,  chance  sights 
or  sounds,  often  of  the  most  whimsical  or  trivial  char- 
acter, would  call  his  love  vividly  up  before  him.  A  look 
intercepted  between  two  lovers  whom  he  passed  in  the 
street,  a  few  bars  of  sentimental  music  from  a  hand- 
organ,  a  glimpse  of  a  woman  whose  carriage  and  air 
vaguely  recalled  Zoe's, — any  one  of  these  would  some- 
times blind  him  for  a  moment,  would  make  his  heart 
beat  and  his  face  burn  as  if  he  had  parted  from  his  be- 
loved only  the  day  before. 

In  general,  however,  he  flattered  himself  that  he  was 
restored.  He  wasn't  as  stable,  of  course,  as  if  certain 
disturbances  had  never  occurred;  he  couldn't  expect  to 
be.  But  as  he  walked  abroad  and  faced  his  fellow-men, 
Jim  felt  that  now  at  last  he  was  fairly  out  from  under 
the  dominion  of  the  spirit  of  Zoe. 

And  just  as  his  new  confidence  was  becoming  rooted, 
there  occurred  the  disquieting  apparition  of  Zoe  in  the 
flesh. 

Jim  was  walking,  late  on  a  lovely  autumn  afternoon, 
up  that  street  where  one  may  see  more  pretty  girls  than 
anywhere  else  in  the  world.  He  had  just  greeted  one 
of  the  prettiest,  the  daughter  of  a  family  that  had  al- 
ways known  his.  "By  George,  I  might  have  had  a 
daughter  almost  that  age  myself,  if  I  had  married 
young,"  he  thought;  perhaps  this  particular  girl  had 
shown  in  her  very  greeting  that  she  knew  the  difference 
between  an  eligible  and  an  old  family  friend,  whom  she 
might  very  well  have  been  brought  up  to  call  "uncle." 
"Well,  no,  I  couldn't  actually  have  had  a  daughter  that 


270  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

age,"  Jim  concluded  on  second  thoughts.  "But  it  shows 
the  time  of  life  I've  come  to,  if  I'm  beginning  to  figure 
myself  as  the  father  instead  of  the  lover  of  what  beauty 
presents  itself." 

A  smile  at  his  own  idea  succeeded  the  smile  he  had 
given  the  girl;  he  was  not  yet  old  enough  so  that  re- 
flection upon  his  own  age  had  ceased  to  be  a  smiling 
matter.  The  second  smile  had  not  died  upon  his  lips 
when  he  was  aware  of  that  familiar  foolish  catch  at  his 
heart :  some  one  in  the  stream  of  promenaders  flowing 
by  on  the  other  side  of  the  walk  had  reminded  him  of 
Zoe. 

After  his  mechanical  start  and  pause  he  had  actually 
taken  a  step  forward  again;  and  he  might  have  gone  on 
so,  and  eluded  his  destiny,  if  the  woman  had  not  at  the 
same  moment  taken  a  step  in  his  direction.  Then,  and 
then  only,  did  Jim  realise  that  this  actually  was  Zoe.  She 
knew  him,  had  known  him  at  once;  and  when  he  knew 
her  too,  it  seemed  to  Jim's  excited  consciousness  that 
there  on  the  sunny  crowded  walk,  in  the  midst  of  the 
urban  throng,  they  leaped  into  each  other's  arms.  All 
that  happened,  however,  was  that  Jim  put  out  his  hand 
and  drew  Zoe  into  a  convenient  doorway. 

They  stood  there  mute,  and  looked  at  each  other. 
To  the  mind  of  each,  it  must  have  seemed  strange  that 
the  subject  of  so  many  fruitless  thoughts,  the  companion 
of  so  many  lonely  vigils,  should  be  thus  bodied  forth  in 
the  flesh.  But  at  least  Zoe  saw  in  Jim  pretty  much  the 
man  she  had  expected  to  see;  in  fact  at  this  eager  mo- 
ment of  meeting  Jim  was  altogether  the  old  Jim. 

It  was  Zoe  who  was  markedly  different.  The  differ- 
ence showed  even  in  superficialities  in  her  dress,  for  in- 
stance :  she  was  wearing  a  black  suit  and  a  yellow  blouse 
— she  who  to  his  knowledge  had  never  worn  black.  But 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  271 

it  was  not  a  difference  that  could  be  attributed  to  dress 
alone.  She  was  still  beautiful,  still  to  Jim's  eye  quite  the 
most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen;  but  her  face 
had  changed.  The  lines  had  sharpened,  the  angles  had 
defined  themselves ;  her  once  cool  glance  had  grown  rest- 
less, and  a  flame  of  colour  burned  in  the  cheeks  that  had 
always  been  so  smoothly  pale.  That  colour  was  so  curi- 
ous that  Jim  might  have  suspected  artifice  if  it  had  not, 
when  he  drew  her  into  the  doorway,  deepened  and  deep- 
ened, and  then  faded,  and  deepened  again;  after  that  it 
continued  to  burn  feverishly  in  her  cheeks.  Only  her  dear 
hair  was  as  he  remembered  it,  coiled  about  her  head  and 
massed  at  the  back,  glowing  golden  under  the  shade  of 
her  wide  dark  hat.  He  blessed  her  hair  because  it  was 
the  same:  he  so  intensely  desired  that  something  about 
her  should  be  quite,  quite  as  he  remembered  it. 

Because  she  was  she,  and  yet  not  she  at  all,  Jim  would 
have  liked  to  stand  there  forever,  noting  and  bewailing 
the  changes  in  her,  working  his  way  down  bit  by  bit  to 
her  fundamental  truth  to  herself — for  at  bottom  she  was, 
she  must  be,  the  same.  But  as  a  matter  of  practical  con- 
duct, he  couldn't  stand  forever  by  her  side  in  a  door- 
way; and  Jim  presently  looked  around  to  see  just  where 
they  actually  were. 

They  had,  by  a  stroke  of  luck,  encountered  each  other 
just  outside  a  tea-room,  ingress  to  which  they  were  now 
effectively  blocking.  Jim  faced  around,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  Zoe's  arm  to  make  her  do  the  like.  "Let's  have 
some  tea,"  were  his  first  words  to  her  after  their  age- 
long silence.  "Or  have  you  already  had  yours,  Zoe?  I 
think  it's  a  little  late." 

Her  throat  contracted  horribly  before  she  managed 
to  speak;  but  when  at  length  her  voice  passed  her  lips, 
it  was  the  same  full  sweet  voice  that  he  remembered. 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  haven't  had  tea.  I  should  be  glad 
of  some." 

Jim's  eager  wonder  sublimated  itself  into  a  flame-like 
happiness.  Actually  to  sit  opposite  Zoe  and  break  bread 
with  her  seemed  compensation  enough  for  all  he  had 
endured  or  ever  could  endure;  and  to  sit  so,  with  an 
endless  half -hour  ahead  of  him,  was  transcendent. 

Zoe  leaned  her  forearms  on  the  table,  and  began  to 
draw  off  her  gloves.  From  the  kid  chrysalides  her  hands 
emerged,  long,  smooth  and  exquisite.  They  held  his 
eye  as  he  said,  "I  have  always  held  that  one  might  meet 
any  one  on  earth  in  Fifth  Avenue.  But  I  don't  know 
that  I  ever  actually  expected  to  find  you  there." 

Her  manner  was  still  not  wholly  unembarrassed;  but 
she  said  indifferently  enough,  "You  might  expect  to 
find  a  globe-trotter  like  me  anywhere." 

Her  chance  use  of  the  word  "globe-trotter"  brought  to 
Jim's  mind  what  he  had  until  now  quite  inconceivably 
forgotten.  In  his  natural  delight  at  seeing  her,  the 
social  factor  had  altogether  slipped  his  mind :  for  all  he 
knew,  he  had  been  addressing  a  princess  by  her  first 
name.  The  hands  whose  ungloving  he  had  just  watched 
conveyed  no  information  on  that  point ;  even  as  he  looked 
once  more,  to  make  sure,  his  eyes  strayed  to  her  left 
wrist,  and  discovered  that  it  was  completely  concealed 
by  her  long  cuff.  Jim  soared  again ;  it  was  with  actual 
hope  that  he  asked  casually,  "Is  your  husband  in  New 
York  with  you?" 

The  tea  arrived  just  then ;  and  after  it  was  safely  de- 
posited before  them  Zoe  kept  him  waiting  for  an  answer 
until  she  had  poured  it.  Then  she  said  sweetly,  "I  haven't 
any  husband.  Is  it  possible  you  don't  keep  me  in  sight 
any  better  than  that?" 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  273 

"How  could  I  know  what  you  were  doing?"  asked 
Jim.  "You  never  wrote." 

"Don't  reproach  me  with  my  rudeness,"  she  said.  "I 
know  I  should  at  least  have  answered  your  letters." 

"You  have  had  them?"  he  could  not  keep  from  ask- 
ing eagerly. 

"Yes.  Two  of  them — or  was  it  three?"  She  wrinkled 
her  forehead  delicately  over  the  doubtful  point,  and 
then  caught  his  eye,  and  said  quickly,  "It  was  three, 
wasn't  it?  But  haven't  you  really  known  what  I  have 
been  about?" 

"I  must  have  known  something,  mustn't  I?  Or  I 
shouldn't  have  suspected  you  of  a  husband,"  he  said. 

"Yes.     Where  did  you  get  that  quaint  idea?" 

"From  the  great  American  press,  which  has  been  my 
one  source  of  information  as  to  your  comings  and  go- 
ings. It  is  not  a  reliable  source,  I  fear;  but  lacking  a 
better,  I  came  to  depend  upon  it.  And  the  last  thing  I 
remember  seeing  about  you  was  that  you  were  on  your 
way  to  the  altar  with  an  Italian  prince." 

Zoe  broke  a  muffin,  buttered  a  bit,  ate  it,  and  reached 
for  another,  all,  as  he  knew,  to  keep  him  waiting  for 
her  answer.  Then  she  said  with  fine  deliberateness,  "You 
somehow  missed  the  year's  sensation.  I  broke  with  my 
prince." 

Jim  started  with  joy ;  but  lest  he  should  seem  too  eager 
he  too  allowed  a  pause  before  he  asked,  "When  did  that 
occur?" 

"A  year  ago  this  summer,  I  think  it  was,"  Zoe  said 
idly.  The  subject  seemed  to  bore  her. 

"A  year  ago  this  summer?  Oh,  I  wasn't  reading  any 
newspapers  then!"  said  Jim.  "I  wasn't  doing  much  of 
anything  about  that  time.  But  I  swear  to  you  that  hence- 
forth neither  physical  nor  mental  infirmity  shall  pre- 


274  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

vent  me  from  keeping  at  least  that  poor  track  of  you." 

She  disregarded  the  "track."  "Were  you  sick,  Jim?" 
she  asked.  She  seemed  honestly  concerned ;  and  it  struck 
him  as  odd  that  she  should  be. 

"I  suppose  I  was:  they  all  seemed  to  think  so.  I 
think  myself  that  I  was  only  sick  with  disgust,  and 
tired  of  living.  I've  climbed  back  pretty  much  to  nor- 
mal since  then;  but  never  mind  all  that.  The  whole 
thing  is  very  uninteresting.  I'd  rather  talk  of  your 
prince.  Let  me  have  the  year's  sensation,  even  if  it's 
last  year's.  What  became  of  your  prince?" 

A  gesture  of  Zoe's  right  hand  seemed  to  obliterate 
the  prince  from  the  earth;  but  she  did  not  answer  in 
words.  Jim  grinned.  "Didn't  you,  after  all,  like  him 
any  better  than  you  liked  me?"  he  asked. 

Zoe  drew  her  breath  sharply;  evidently  there  was 
something  deadly  about  the  parallel.  But  for  her  lost 
prince  she  had  only  sublime  unconcern.  She  emptied  her 
cup,  and  said  cheerfully  as  she  set  it  down,  "His  royal 
family  objected  to  me." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  They  naturally  would  object  to 
any  commoner,  however  illustrious.  What  then?" 

"Why  should  there  be  any  'then'?  That  was  enough, 
I  should  say." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "You  might  say  that  to  some 
people,  and  be  believed.  I  don't  believe  you,  however. 
A  royal  family  would  be  but  a  slight  obstacle  to  you,  if 
your  mind  were  really  set  on  anything." 

She  smiled  a  little  at  that :  it  was  the  first  time  during 
the  interview  that  he  had  seen  her  smile.  "As  a  matter 
of  fact,  you  are  right,"  she  conceded.  "That  was  only 
the  beginning  of  the  trouble.  His  family  objected,  and 
he  dared  them  to  do  their  worst.  He  vowed  that  he 
would  adhere  to  me,  come  what  might:  kingdoms  and 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  275 

thrones  themselves  shouldn't  move  him,  to  say  nothing  of 
royal  relatives." 

"You  must  have  been  flattered,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  I  was,  at  first,"  said  Zoe.  "I  was  positively  al- 
most stirred,  Jim,  until — until  I  saw  that  I  was  meant  to 
be." 

"He  condescended  to  you?" 

"He  did.  In  a  way  perhaps  he  couldn't  be  blamed. 
He  was  in  love  with  me,  I  suppose,  and  he  really  en- 
dured a  great  deal  of  unpleasantness  for  my  sake.  But 
in  his  own  mind  he  saw  himself  as  King  Cophetua  stoop- 
ing to  the  beggar  maid." 

"And  in  your  own  mind  you  are  always  Queen  Co- 
phetua, Zoe." 

"Well,  perhaps.    But  at  least  I'm  Zoe  Lenox." 

"By  the  grace  of  God?"  Jim  suggested. 

"Exactly.  And  oughtn't  that  to  count  for  more  than 
a  mere  accident  of  European  politics?  In  other  words, 
Jim,  in  vulgar  words,  I  was  miffed.  So  I  put  an  end 
to  it  all." 

"At  least  in  ending  it  you  had  a  fine  sensation,"  said 
Jim.  "It  isn't  every  young  woman,  or  even  every  beauty, 
who  can  jilt  a  member  of  a  reigning  house." 

"You  think  I  look  for  nothing  in  life  but  sensations, 
especially  cru«l  sensations?"  she  asked,  resting  her  el- 
bow on  the  table  and  her  chin  in  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

"Far  from  it.  I  think  that  so  far  as  possible  you 
avoid  sensations.  You  know  I  have  always  thought 
that  of  you.  But  this  sensation,  involving  as  it  did  the 
avoidance  of  so  much,  must  have  been  grateful  to  you." 

"Probably  you're  right,  in  that  case.  If  you  knew — 
Well,  perhaps  you're  right  anyway." 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  said  Jim.    "Not  that  it  matters  par- 


276  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

ticularly.  What  did  you  do  after  you  had  polished  off 
your  prince?" 

"I  resumed  my  pilgrimage,"  said  Zoe. 

"In  the  Helga?"  asked  Jim,  to  see  what  she  would 
say. 

She  changed  colour  a  little,  but  she  answered  readily 
enough,  "No,  not  in  the  Helga.  I  don't  care  for  the 
water  as  I  once  did,  I  find.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that 
one  can  change  so;  but  it  happens." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  happens!" 

"You  haven't  changed  much,"  she  said  rather  wist- 
fully. 

"No,  very  little.  Have  you  been  in  New  York  long?" 
he  asked. 

"Several  days."  Her  colour  deepened  as  she  made 
this  simple  admission. 

"And  how  long  do  you  expect  to  be  here?" 

"As  much  longer,  perhaps.  Or  I  may  decide  to  spend 
a  month  here.  I  never  can  say  with  any  certainty.  I'm 
a  bird  of  passage,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know.    Where  are  you  staying?" 

"I  have  an  apartment  across  the  Park.  Isn't  that 
what  you  call  it  in  the  States — an  apartment?" 

"Yes,  that  is  what  we  call  it.  You  must  expect  to  be 
with  us  more  than  a  few  days,  though,  if  you're  so  set- 
tled as  all  that." 

"Oh,  not  necessarily!  One  is  so  much  more  comfort- 
able in  a  place  of  one's  own,  don't  you  think  ?  And  one 
tires  so  of  hotels." 

"Can  you  get  a  satisfactory  furnished  flat  anywhere 
in  Christendom  that  you  may  choose  to  drop  down?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!  But  my  secretary  sees  to  all  that. 
A  most  efficient  person — I  have  nothing  against  her  ex- 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  277 

i 

cept  her  efficiency.  I  hadn't  any  secretary  when  you 
knew  me,  had  I,  Jim?" 

"No.  But  I  suppose  one  has  become  necessary  to  you 
now." 

"Or  I  have  deteriorated  so  far  as  to  think  I  need  one  ? 
Perhaps  that  is  it.  This  woman  I  have  now  would  gladly 
spare  me  the  trouble  of  breathing  for  myself." 

"How  heavenly!"  commented  Jim.  "And  is  Anna 
still  with  you?" 

"No.  I  have  pensioned  Anna,  and  sent  her  back  to 
her  own  people.  She  was  growing  too  old;  and  per- 
haps I  was  growing  a  thought  too  civilised  to  tolerate 
her  any  more.  I  have  a  Frenchwoman  to  do  me  now." 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  been  done  by  a  French- 
woman. At  least,  I  suppose  that's  it.  You  don't  look 
your  old  self,  anyway,"  said  Jim  rather  bitterly. 

"Make  some  allowance  for  the  ravages  of  time,  my 
dear  friend,"  she  said.  That  was  a  patent  absurdity, 
and  was  probably  uttered  as  such:  whatever  had  rav- 
aged her,  it  was  certainly  not  time. 

As  if  to  make  her  statement  more  absurd,  she  rose 
from  the  table  just  then;  and  looking  down  on  him 
from  the  height  that  she  carried  so  gracefully,  all  ease 
and  assurance  once  more,  she  said,  "Shall  we  be  going 
now?" 

Jim  scrambled  reluctantly  to  his  feet.  "If  you  haven't 
any  more  time "  he  muttered. 

When  their  eyes  were  once  more  level  she  smiled  at 
him.  "Walk  with  me  across  the  Park,  if  you  care  to," 
she  said.  "I'm  sorry,  I  have  an  engagement  for  dinner 
to-night;  but  this  won't  be  the  last  time  I  shall  see  you, 
I  hope." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Jim.  "I  know  you  must  be  very 
much  in  demand,  Zoe," 


278  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Not  so  very  much,"  she  said  as  they  went  out  to- 
gether. "I  am  here,"  she  went  on  with  a  smile,  "more 
or  less  incognito.  These  people  I  am  dining  with  to- 
night, however,  I  couldn't  ignore;  I  know  them  very 
well."  She  gave  him  the  name  of  "these  people,"  a 
name  as  international  as  her  own  had  now  become. 

They  swung  along  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes  after 
that;  just  to  walk  so  with  her  brought  back  so  many 
things.  When  they  were  fairly  in  the  Park,  however, 
Zoe  broke  the  silence.  "You  will  let  me  give  you  dinner 
some  evening?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  the  dinner,"  she  said.  "I 
have  an  excellent  cook." 

"Picked  up  at  a  day's  notice?"  Jim  wished  to  know. 

"By  my  excellent  secretary." 

"How  smoothly  your  life  must,  glide !"  said  Jim. 

Zoe's  eyes  had  sought  the  road  ahead.  "Is  that  an 
empty  taxicab?"  she  asked.  "It  is.  That's  luck.  I 
think  I'll  leave  you  now,  Jim." 

He  halted  the  taxicab,  and  turned  to  help  her  in. 
"Shall  we  set  a  day  for  our  dinner?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.    The  earlier  the  better,"  said  Jim. 

"I  think  so  too.     Shall  we  say  to-morrow?" 

"To-morrow  will  suit  me  perfectly,"  he  replied. 

"To-morrow  at  seven,  then,"  said  Zoe. 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  Jim  kept  it  in  his  for  a 
moment.  As  they  stood  so  a  last  ray  of  sunlight  some- 
how found  its  way  to  them ;  and  in  that  mellow  radiance 
she  stood  and  looked  at  him.  Between  her  dusky  hat 
and  her  bright  blouse  her  face  and  throat  stood  forth  in 
all  their  essential  loveliness,  and  her  hair  glowed  and 
shone  like  a  living  thing.  And  suddenly  Jirri  ceased  to 
be  merely  thrilled  and  disturbed  by  her;  suddenly  her 


PRINCE  COPHETUA  279 

hand  was  on  his  heart-strings,  and  she  was  drawing 
therefrom  music  that  was  like  a  nightingale's, 

Jim  was  alone  before  he  realised  that  he  should  have 
followed  her  while  this  mood  was  on  him:  that  thanks 
to  Zoe's  dinner  engagement  and  the  waiting  taxicab  he 
had  missed  a  rare  opportunity.  To-morrow  night  he 
might  simply  be  disturbed  and  anxious.  He  might  even 
be  bored  by  the  whole  affair:  boredom  was,  at  such  a 
late  stage  of  a  relation,  not  inconceivable.  And  just 
now 

Jim  drew  a  long  breath ;  and  looking  down  discovered 
that  he  held  in  his  hand  a  memorandum  of  her  address: 
Zoe's  address,  visible  reminder  of  a  veritable  engage- 
ment with  the  haunter  of  his  dreams.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  staring  at  it;  then,  as  it  did  not  vanish  from 
before  his  eyes,  he  thrust  it  in  his  pocket,  and  walked 
slowly  on. 

And  as  he  walked  there  came  abruptly  to  his  mind, 
and  almost  to  his  lips,  the  query,  "Why  on  earth  has 
she  come  here  anyway?"  And  by  the  fact  that  he  hadn't 
thought  of  that  natural  question  first  of  all,  that  he  had 
waited  to  think  of  it  until  she  was  out  of  his  sight,  he 
measured  the  depth  of  the  morass  in  which,  whether 
cheered  or  not  by  nightingales'  songs,  he  still  endlessly 
struggled. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   PARTING   OF   THE    WATERS 

TIM  waited  upon  his  lady  the  next  evening  fifteen 
**  minutes  before  the  appointed  hour.  He  had  left 
the  office  early  that  afternoon,  because  work  was  impos- 
sible to  him  then ;  and  he  had  spent  a  ridiculous  amount 
of  time  on  his  toilet,  chiefly  to  give  himself  something 
to  do.  Now  he  found  Zoe's  flat  and  rang  her  bell  in  a 
mood  of  high  if  carefully  suppressed  excitement.  He 
was  as  badly  off  as  he  had  ever  been,  conscience  rose 
now  and  then  to  assure  him.  But  he  had  a  crushing  re- 
tort for  conscience:  what  did  it  matter  how  badly  off 
he  was,  when  he  was  actually  on  his  way  to  her? 

He  felt  a  strong  delicious  curiosity,  not  only  as  to  the 
character  and  the  outcome  of  this  evening's  visit,  but 
even  as  to  its  most  minute  details.  What  would  she 
wear,  and  what  would  she  have  ordered  for  dinner,  and  in 
what  surroundings  would  they  eat  it?  Only  to  think  of 
her  dressing  for  him,  and  no  doubt  selecting  a  menu  to 
suit  his  taste,  for  all  the  world  as  if  they  were  back  in 
the  Helga!  Only  to  think  of  the  two  of  them,  coolly 
dining  together,  after  all  they  had  experienced  and  all 
they  had  missed! 

Jim  had  a  moment  to  himself  in  her  drawing-room; 
and  before  Zoe  came  in  he  bethought  himself  to  look 
about  him — it  wasn't  likely  that  he  would  do  so  after  she 
came  in.  The  flat  that  she  had  taken  was  sizeable,  fur- 
nished in  perfect  taste,  and  of  itself,  Jim  judged,  abso- 

280 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS         281 

lutely  characterless.  Of  course,  that  was  all  the  better : 
Zoe  hadn't  to  expunge  the  traces  of  a  previous  inhabi- 
tant before  she  made  her  surroundings  look  exactly  like 
herself.  Her  books  lay  on  the  table,  with  her  monogram 
staring  up  from  the  cover.  Dull  gold  cushions  of  her 
choosing  lay  about  everywhere,  on  chairs  and  sofa  and 
floor;  and  there  were  flowers  innumerable,  flower  heads 
floating  in  shallow  bowls  of  water,  long  stems  thick  with 
blue  and  yellow  and  white  bells  erect  in  tall  vases  that 
stood  on  the  floor.  Many  of  the  flowers  were  strange  to 
Jim;  he  wondered  where  she  had  found  them  all.  He 
wondered,  too,  how  there  could  be  so  many  flowers  to- 
gether with  no  heavy  flower  odour ;  and  decided  that  per- 
haps she  had  chosen  scentless  flowers  on  purpose. 

Jim  made  a  circuit  of  the  drawing-room  once  before 
he  discovered  something  quite  breath-taking,  breath-tak- 
ing only  because  it  was  so  familiar.  The  big  portrait  of 
Dan  Lenox  that  had  once  hung  above  the  mantel  in  the 
Helga's  cabin  hung  in  this  room  too,  though  less  con- 
spicuously. Even  as  Jim  stood  gazing  up  at  it,  he  had 
a  farther  proof  of  Zoe's  sublime  disregard  of  the  un- 
wieldiness  of  impedimenta  in  a  wandering  life:  for  a 
huge  and  very  fine  mastiff  came  into  the  room,  and 
sniffed  inquiringly  at  Jim.  Jim  patted  the  animal's  head  : 
he  hadn't  known  that  Zoe  liked  dogs.  He  hoped  that 
she  did  like  this  one:  he  hated  to  think  of  a  fine  dog  at 
the  mercy  of  even  her  magnificent  caprice. 

And  then  Zoe  came  to  him,  with  a  soft  rustle  of  drap- 
eries and  a  little  click  of  high  heels  on  the  polished  floor. 
She  gave  him  both  her  hands;  and  he  kept  them  in  his, 
but  drew  back  to  look  her  over.  "Jove,  but  you're  mag- 
nificent to-night !"  he  said. 

She  gave  a  little  soft  laugh  of  pleasure.  "I  tried  to 
be,"  she  said. 


282  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Even  to  an  eye  not  a  lover's,  she  would  have  seemed 
that  evening  unusually  splendid.  She  was  dressed  for 
conquest,  in  a  very  long,  very  soft,  white  gown,  with  a 
curious  cape  arrangement  of  gold  embroidery  that  shaded 
off  into  purple.  At  her  embroidered  girdle  was  a  knot 
of  violets:  a  knot  of  violets,  which  on  another  woman 
might  have  been  the  very  symbol  of  the  ingenuous,  was 
here  the  last  touch  of  sophistication.  But  it  was  her 
expression  which  drew  and  held  the  eye,  so  softly  bright 
it  was,  so  unlike  her  usual  look.  It  must  arouse  hopes 
in  a  lover's  breast.  If  she  could  look  like  that  when  he 
came  to  her 

"Zoe,"  began  Jim,  "Zoe " 

Zoe  wheeled  suddenly,  drawing  her  hands  away  from 
him;  her  quicker  ear  had  heard  an  approaching  tread. 
"My  secretary,"  she  said  in  an  undertone.  "She  always 
dines  with  me,  except  sometimes,  of  course,  when  I  have 
a  big  party.  You  don't  mind,  do  you,  Jim?" 

Oh,  no,  he  didn't  mind!  He  could  have  torn  the 
hapless  secretary  limb  from  limb.  He  sat  down  at  the 
table  with  her,  wishing  that  she  might  be  smitten  by  all 
the  seven  plagues  of  Egypt,  by  anything  and  by  every- 
thing, if  it  would  only  force  her  to  leave  the  table.  And 
yet  the  secretary  was  a  very  pleasant,  well-informed, 
middle-aged  woman,  obviously  of  good  social  class;  and 
doubtless  her  wholesome  individuality  would  in  the  long 
run  influence  Zoe  for  good.  Zoe  needed  more  feminine 
companionship  than  she  had  ever  had ;  and  Zoe  Lenoxes, 
to  their  misfortune,  could  get  feminine  companionship  in 
an  untarnished  form,  only  from  some  such  middle-aged 
and  not  too  personable  source  as  this. 

Most  of  the  conversation  over  the  dinner  table  de- 
volved upon  the  secretary.  Jim  asked  her  what  her  im- 
pressions of  America  were,  and  didn't  she  find  servants 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS         283 

hard  to  get  in  this  country,  and  hadn't  they  been  having 
a  fine  fall.  Zoe  sat  silent  for  the  most  part,  and  watched 
her  plate.  Once,  however,  Jim  surprised  her  eyes  upon 
him,  and  when  she  saw  that  she  was  caught  she  flushed 
a  little,  and  then  gave  him  a  look  of  fairly  bewildering 
sweetness.  Jim  felt  of  a  sudden  warm  and  happy;  he 
was  gracious  even  to  the  secretary  for  the  rest  of  the 
meal. 

Afterward  they  went  to  a  small  music-room  which 
opened  off  the  drawing-room;  and  there  the  secretary 
must  have  made  her  excuses  and  withdrawn.  For  pres- 
ently Jim  felt  that  he  and  Zoe  were  alone;  and  he  found 
himself  standing  behind  her,  watching  her  white  shoul- 
ders as  she  played  and  played,  endlessly  on  and  on,  as 
if  her  life  depended  on  her  not  stopping. 

Then  suddenly  Jim's  hands  fell  heavily  on  hers,  and 
her  throbbing  music  ended  in  discord.  "That's  enough, 
Zoe,"  he  said.  She  did  not  protest;  she  turned  her  head 
a  little  toward  him.  Jim  drew  her  up  to  him ;  her  eyes 
closed,  and  their  lips  met. 

It  was  one  of  their  old  passionate  caresses;  she  met 
him  in  it  fully,  as  she  always  had,  as  a  free  woman  ought. 
Jim's  spirit  soared  to  the  skies.  When  she  presently 
stirred  in  his  arms  his  grasp  relaxed ;  he  held  her  off  and 
looked  at  her.  Her  eyes  opened  and  found  his.  Jim  felt 
as  if  shackles  had  dropped  from  him;  he  was  free  and 
calm,  and  could  see  very  clearly.  He  kissed  her  again, 
lightly  on  the  cheek,  and  let  her  go  with  a  little  laugh. 
"Everything  is  just  as  it  should  be,  my  dear,"  he  said. 
"Quite,  quite  as  it  should  be." 

Zoe  sank  into  a  nearby  chair.  Her  huge  dog  came 
wandering  in  just  then,  and  sat  down  beside  her:  Zoe 
laid  one  hand  on  the  massive  head.  It  was  a  little  white 
and  gold  chair  that  she  was  sitting  on,  and  one  of  her 


284  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

slippers  rested  on  a  gold-coloured  cushion.  She  com- 
posed a  perfect  picture;  Jim  stood  back  and  feasted  his 
eyes.  Beauty  like  hers  excused  and  atoned  for  every- 
thing, he  felt ;  it  always  would.  Yet  would  there  be 
much  hereafter  for  it  to  atone  for?  Even  to-night,  talk 
of  atonement  seemed  sflly :  Zoe  was  herself,  and  as  her- 
self she  could  not  fail  to  be  sufficient.  If  only  she  would 
lift  her  eyes  and  look  at  him — if  only  she  would  lift  her 
eyes. 

Suddenly  she  did  lift  them;  and  she  spoke  with  some 
abruptness.  "Jim,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  why  I  came 
here  to  New  York?" 

"I  have  been  wondering,"  answered  Jim.  "Was  it  to 
see ?" 

"I  came  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "That's  all  I  came 
for,  but  I  was  ashamed  to  try  directly  to  see  you.  I 
have  been  here  a  week,  Jim,  a  week — watching  for 
your  face  in  the  crowd." 

"Zoe,  my  dear!"  he  cried.  "It's  wonderful,  that  is, 
and  it's  wonderful  of  you  to  tell  me." 

"I  wouldn't  admit  it  even  to  myself,"  she  said  with 
curious  tenseness.  "But  it's  true.  I  came  because  I 
couldn't  stay  away  from  you  any  longer." 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  have  ceased  to  struggle?" 
he  asked. 

"I'm  afraid  not.  Simply  that  I'm  tired,  and  I  re- 
membered you  so  well — too  well." 

"I  bless  even  your  discouragement,  since  it  has  brought 
you  here,"  said  Jim.  "But  for  your  own  sake,  Zoe,  stop 
fighting  me — and  yourself.  It  only  grinds  you  down, 
and  it  doesn't  do  any  good.  In  the  end  you  will  have 
to  give  in  or  be  destroyed — no,  in  the  end  you  will  give 
in.  Now  you  are  only  holding  off  the  inevitable.  You 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS         285 

are  making  yourself  suffer,  and  me  suffer;  and  you  are 
wasting  the  best  years  of  both  our  lives." 

"How  shall  I  avoid  those  dire  consequences?"  she 
asked  bitterly. 

"You  wish  me  to  say  it  again?  I'll  say  it  as  often  as 
you  like.  I  shan't  tire  of  saying  it;  but  I  would  be 
glad  if  you  did  tire  of  hearing:  tire  enough  to  do  it,  and 
so  put  a  stop  forever  to  my  repetition  of  my  formula. 
Marry  me,  Zoe." 

"That  is  the  only  way  I  can  avoid  wasting  my  life?" 
she  wished  to  know. 

"It  sounds  ridiculous,  doesn't  it?"  he  conceded.  "A 
woman  like  you,  and  an  ordinary  duffer  like  me.  But 
you  know  yourself  that  it  isn't  ridiculous.  The — the 
actuality  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  I  assure  you.  And  if  worse 
ever  came  to  worst,  and  you  wished  yourself  out,  those 
things  can  be  arranged.  But  I  have  no  idea  things  would 
ever  come  to  the  worst;  and  even  if  they  did,  the  worst 
that  lies  that  way,  the  quite  impossible  worst,  isn't  so 
bad  as  things  are  now." 

"Oh,  nothing  is  so  very  bad  now !"  she  said,  stirring  in 
her  chair.  "Don't  take  my  sentimental  regrets  too  seri- 
ously, Jim ;  I  don't  take  them  too  seriously  myself.  And 
don't  feel  compelled  to  starve  your  own  life  simply  be- 
cause I  happen  to  have  found  you  the  most  agreeable 
man  I  ever  knew." 

"Zoe,  my  love,  don't  ask  me  to  doubt  the  evidence 
of  my  senses.  You  have  changed  mightily  in  the  last 
two  years.  Anybody  could  see  it,  I  should  think,  let 
alone  a  man  who " 

"Silly,  silly,  it's  only  that  I  am  crying  for  the  moon!" 
she  said  almost  tenderly.  "I  can't  eat  my  cake  and  keep 
it  too.  That's  human  destiny,  Jim,  and  usually  I  am 
wise  enough  to  know  it.  But  to-night  things  have  got 


286  ,  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

on  my  nerves.  It  is  seeing  you,  I  think ;  because  for  the 
most  part  I  can  keep  things  off  my  nerves." 

"You  expect  me  to  believe  that  ?" 

"Why  not,  as  it's  the  truth?" 

"Well,  it  is  customary  to  take  a  lady's  word,  I  sup- 
pose. But  I  see  what  I  see,  Zoe." 

"You  see  a  great  deal,  and  you  say  a  great  deal.  And 
the  moral  to  all  you  see  and  say,  Jim,  is  just  'Marry 
me!'" 

"That  is  a  sharp  one.  But  even  if  it's  true,  that  is  a 
sufficiently  good  moral." 

"It  is  to  preach  this  moral,  that  you  remain  single 
from  year's  end  to  year's  end?" 

"Zoe,  are  you  trying  to  irritate  me?"  he  asked. 

If  she  were  trying,  she  had  certainly  succeeded  this 
time.  Her  question  brought  sharply  into  Jim's  mind 
the  fact  that  he  shouldn't  even  to-night  be  in  a  position 
to  preach  his  "moral"  to  her  if  it  hadn't  been  for  an- 
other woman's  magnanimity.  Jessica's  refusal  of  him 
had  been  magnanimity,  and  Zoe's  was  sheer  nihilism. 
The  sacrifice  of  love  had  built  Jessica  up  to  a  height : 
the  denial  of  love  was  wearing  Zoe  down.  Why  should 
he  love  the  one  of  them  and  not  the  other?  And  why 
where  he  did  love,  and  believed  himself  loved  in  return, 
couldn't  he  make  his  love  signally  effective  ? 

Jim  turned  away  from  Zoe,  and  walked  into  the  next 
room.  He  was  disgusted  with  her  for  talking  so  fool- 
ishly, and  with  himself  for  answering  her.  They  were 
both  children  of  an  age  that  talks  too  much,  and  for 
the  most  part  foolishly.  Jim  was  tired  of  Zoe,  and  of 
himself;  he  longed  to  be  alone  in  the  open  air,  and  to 
forget  to  think. 

He  strolled  to  an  open  window,  and  stood  looking  out ; 
then  presently  he  turned  to  one  of  the  very  tall  vases  of 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS         287 

very  long-stemmed  flowers  that  stood  nearby.  He  laid 
his  face  among  them;  and  the  petals  were  cool  and 
sweet,  and  scentless.  How  like  her,  to  have  flowers  with 
no  scent!  As  well  the  asphodel  fields  at  once,  and  the 
dull  life  of  the  shades.  That  seemed  to  be  her  ideal, 
anyhow. 

And  as  he  stood  there  sulking  and  storming  to  him- 
self, Zoe  came  up  to  him.  He  had  half  thought  that 
she  would  come;  yet  when  he  actually  heard  her  step 
behind  him,  it  was  with  a  start  of  incredulous  joy.  She 
showed  her  love  for  him  in  strange  ways;  but  for  a  ni- 
hilist she  found  it  singularly  hard  to  let  him  alone. 

Jim  stood  as  he  was  until  she  came  quite  up  to  him. 
She  stopped  beside  him,  and  he  still  ignored  her.  She 
too  put  her  face  to  the  flowers,  so  that  her  head  ap- 
proached his;  and  Jim  held  himself  in  leash.  She  turned 
a  little  toward  him,  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder; 
Jim  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

She  drew  him  down  with  her  to  a  little  sofa  that  stood 
nearby;  and  no  old  caress  of  them  all  had  ever  been  like 
this  one.  The  old  passionate  exhilaration,  the  old  ex- 
quisite excitement,  came  and  swelled  within  him,  and 
were  lost.  Their  embrace  earlier  in  the  evening  had 
cleared  the  atmosphere;  this  one  blinded  and  deafened 
Jim,  and  left  him  only  a  mass  of  sublimated  instincts. 
His  arms  tightened  and  tightened  about  her :  his  breath 
came  sharply  audible. 

It  might  have  ended  almost  anyhow,  had  not  the  child 
of  a  too  talkative  age  taken  to  speech.  "Jim,"  Zoe  whis- 
pered, turning  her  face  a  little  away  from  him,  "never 
mind  the  rest.  Take  me  to-night — only  take  me  to-night, 
Jim." 

In  an  instant  Jim  was  himself,  somewhat  shaken,  to 
be  sure,  but  quite  in  possession  of  his  faculties  and  his 


288  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

normal  view-point.  He  released  her  gently,  and  stood 
up.  "That  won't  do,  Zoe,"  he  said. 

She  sank  face  downward  on  the  sofa,  with  her  arms 
extended;  her  golden  cape  covered  her  like  a  pall.  Jim 
stood  over  her  and  spoke;  his  tone  was  very  gentle,  but 
its  firmness  surprised  even  his  own  ear. 

"Once  that  might  have  done,"  he  said.  "But  it  won't 
do  now.  We  have  had  the  first  fruits  of  our  passion. 
From  now  on,  it  must  be  all  or  nothing." 

"You  have  said  it,  then,"  came  in  a  muffled  tone  from 
Zoe.  "It  must  be  nothing." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Jim.  "I'm  doubly  sorry,  because  I 
shall  probably  wait  for  you  all  my  life.  It  won't  be  a 
willing  sacrifice;  I  can't  help  myself.  That's  my  sole 
point  of  'superiority  to  you,  Zoe;  I  admit  the  inevi- 
table." 

She  did  not  answer  that ;  she  lay  very  still,  very  tense. 
Jim  stooped  a  little  nearer  to  her,  could  not  resist  mak- 
ing one  last  appeal.  "Dear  heart,  won't  you  admit  the 
inevitable?  Won't  you  look  at  it  simply,  as  it  is?  It  is 
very  simple.  Can't  you  look  at  it  so?  Have  you  built 
the  wall  about  you  so  high  that  you  can't  see  over  it, 
even  if  you  cared  to?  I  suppose  you  have;  I  suppose 
you  aren't  even  wholly  to  blame  for  building  your  wall. 
Perhaps  I'm  not  superior  to  you,  Zoe ;  perhaps  I'm  only 
luckier.  Even  if  I  die  waiting  for  you,  and  you  never 
come  to  me,  perhaps  that  will  be  only  a  last  bit  of  luck. 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  die  so,  if  you  never  do  come.  But 
that's  all  my  own  simplicity,  and  I  dare  say  you  do  well 
to  ignore  it." 

It  was  very  still  now  in  the  room.  Jim  straightened 
up,  and  looked  about  him,  and  marvelled  at  this  stillness. 
Then  he  looked  down  at  Zoe  again.  "I  am  going  now, 
dear,"  he  said. 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WATERS         289 

At  those  words  the  muscles  in  the  back  of  her  neck 
rippled  faintly,  and  a  contraction  went  over  her  whole 
body,  as  if  she  were  about  to  rise.  But  she  did  not  rise, 
or  even  change  her  position;  and  she  who  had  so  lately 
used  her  fatal  gift  of  speech  now  found  no  word  to 
utter. 

Jim  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  on  her  golden  hair; 
but  she  did  not  seem  to  feel  his  touch.  Then  he  turned 
and  walked  out,  steadily,  without  a  backward  glance, 
steadily  and  alone,  into  the  encompassing  loneliness. 

Of  course,  before  the  night  was  over  he  cursed  him- 
self for  a  fool. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

SUNDERING  FLOOD 


HE  went  back  to  Zoe's  flat,  of  course,  that  next  day  ; 
indeed  he  went  there  in  the  morning.  He  was  not 
particularly  surprised,  however,  to  find  that  she  had  left 
the  city,  vanishing  by  some  impossibly  early  train,  por- 
trait, mastiff,  secretary,  maid  and  all.  On  the  principle 
that  where  one  train  has  gone  another  will  some  day  go, 
Jim  tried  to  learn  her  destination.  But  the  janitor  had 
evidently  been  well  feed,  and  knew  nothing;  the  agent 
through  whom  the  flat  was  leased  had  received  his 
money  in  advance,  and  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  de- 
mands of  young  men  with  obviously  trumped-up  pre- 
texts for  seeing  a  departed  tenant. 

It  was  probably  better  this  way,  Jim  tried  to  console 
himself  by  thinking.  He  and  Zoe  had  got  beyond  the 
stage  of  rational  argument,  and  had  moreover  no  hope 
of  convincing  each  other;  to  go  on  now  would  simply 
be  to  descend  to  recrimination  and  repetition,  with  per- 
haps worse  to  come.  And  yet  —  it  was  pitiful  to  think 
of  her  going  on  in  her  present  state.  She  must  have 
been  awfully  worn  down  before  she  would  ever  come  to 
him  so:  he  recalled  her  restlessness,  her  flushed  cheeks, 
her  every  sign  of  fever  and  distress  ;  and  he  remembered 
that  he  had  sent  her  thus  on  her  lonely  way. 

Only  it  wouldn't  necessarily  or  even  probably  be  a 
lonely  way.  There  were  people  enough  to  beguile  her 

290 


THE  SUNDERING  FLOOD  291 

loneliness — frankly,  there  were  men  enough.  That  was 
the  worst  of  it :  he  had  sent  her  forth  in  such  a  state,  al- 
though he  knew  what  might  come  of  his  so  doing.  Per- 
haps she  knew  too.  Doubtless  she  thought  he  was  both 
ungenerous  and  unmanly.  He  thought  so  himself,  when 
he  came  right  down  to  it.  And  yet  underneath  he  was 
sure  that  he  had  been  right :  between  them  henceforth  it 
had  to  be  all  or  nothing.  But  how  could  he  be  right, 
and  bring  down  such  consequences?  And  yet  he  was 
right. 

For  a  man  who  was  in  the  right  he  suffered,  to  be 
sure,  from  something  singularly  like  a  bad  conscience. 
But  that  was  only  part  of  his  sufferings.  For  his  dark 
spirit  was  now  fully  in  the  ascendant,  and  during  many 
days  he  was  thoroughly  wretched.  He  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  should  never  see  Zoe  again;  he  fully 
believed  that  he  should  never  love  any  other  woman.  And 
because  he  had  loved,  he  knew  what  he  was  missing,  and 
he  tortured  himself  with  the  thought. 

He  wondered  sometimes  in  his  solitary  reveries  what 
Dan  Lenox  would  have  done  in  his  place.  Seized  the 
lady  piratically,  no  doubt,  and  given  her,  so  to  speak, 
her  choice  between  a  pirate's  love  and  walking  the  plank. 
Well,  Jim  was  no  Dan  Lenox:  he  had  recognised  that 
more  than  once.  And  Zoe  was  not  on  this  side  of  her 
Dan  Lenox's  daughter  at  all.  It  seemed  to  Jim,  gloom- 
ing over  the  whole  affair,  that  now  Dan  Lenox  was  dead 
indeed,  in  influence  as  well  as  in  the  flesh ;  but  the  spirit 
of  the  vanished  Helga  lived,  waxed  and  was  glorified  in 
Zoe's  devouring  renunciations. 

A  month  after  she  left  New  York,  Zoe  quite  unex- 
pectedly wrote  to  Jim.  The  letter  was  written  on  both 
sides  of  a  large  sheet  of  paper;  with  no  address  or  date 
line,  it  began: — 


292  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Jim,  dear, 

"I  never  expect, to  see  you  again.  With  my  consent, 
you  shall  never  see  me.  That  is  why  I  write  to  you  to 
tell  you  what  I  do.  No,  I  write  because  I  can't  help  it, 
and  simply  to  ease  my  own  mind.  If  you  never  get  this 
letter,  so  much  the  better ;  but  I  shall  send  it,  because 

"Jim,  dear,  I  loved  you  those  days  in  the  Helga.  You 
taught  me  what  the  word  meant,  and  I  have  never  un- 
learned the  lesson.  I  loved  you  then.  I  love  you  now. 

"And  I  can't  give  in.  I  can't.  It  isn't  that  you  aren't 
good  enough  for  me.  You're  too  good,  dear,  simple- 
hearted  Jim;  and  if  you  were  only  a  hundredth  part  as 
good  as  you  are,  any  woman  but  me  would  submit, 
rather  than  suffer  as  I  am  suffering  now. 

"I  can't  yield.  Those  days  in  the  Helga  when  life  and 
death  played  me  false  ought  to  have  taught  me,  but 
they  haven't.  Always,  always  I  must  captain  my  soul; 
and  that's  only  another  way  of  saying  that  I  never  have 
captained  it.  Jim,  do  you  understand?  Sometimes  I 
think  I'm  a  little  bit  mad;  and  sometimes  I  fairly  hope 
that  I  may  go  mad,  and  so  end  this  particular  torture. 

"You  do  understand,  don't  you?  I  want  you  to  un- 
derstand, because  you  will  never  see  me  again.  I  will 
kill  myself  before  I'll  let  you  see  me  again. 

"You  should  have  taken  what  I  had  to  offer  that  last 
night.  It  might  have  sayed  us  both. 

"Jim,  my  darling,  my  darling!  You  could  have  saved 
me  from  myself;  you  could  have  saved  me  from  this 
hell  of  nothingness." 

It  was  signed  with  her  initials.  Jim,  reading  her 
wild  words  in  her  impossibly  clear  writing,  was  at  first 
simply  stunned.  And  then  he  was  delighted  that  she 


THE  SUNDERING  FLOOD  293 

could  on  occasion  write  so  wildly ;  it  showed  that  she  was 
not  altogether  the  spiritual  hue  of  a  ghost. 

He  read  her  letter  a  second  time,  and  then,  with  a 
furious  thrill,  a  third.  On  the  third  reading  he  turned 
cold  at  the  end.  "Jim,  my  darling!  my  darling!" — as 
if  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him — "You  could  have 
saved  me  from  myself;  you  could  have  saved  me  from 
this  hell  of  nothingness." 

And  so  he  could.  Heaven  help  them  both,  so  he 
could.  Good  Christian  man,  what  had  he  meant  by  his 
niggling  attitude?  Didn't  he  know  that  when  a  man 
had  once  gone  to  a  woman  as  he  had  to  Zoe,  had  taken 
her  love  and  given  his  in  exchange,  he  couldn't  draw 
back,  no  matter  what  the  conditions?  He  had  had  his 
fine  ideal,  had  scorned  the  compromise  she  offered,  had 
even  perhaps  cherished  scruples.  He  had  despised  her 
for  hanging  back,  and  what  was  he  himself  but  a  hang- 
er-back of  the  worst  sort?  The  sum  of  his  righteous- 
ness was  that  he  had  cast  forth  his  beloved  into  outer 
darkness. 

She  had  given  him  no  address ;  she  had  not  meant  her 
appeal  to  be  answered.  Indeed,  this  letter  was  unanswer- 
able; Jim  could  not  see  himself  sitting  down  and  pen- 
ning an  answer  to  it.  But  suppose  he  were  to  go  to  her? 
If  with  nothing  better  than  the  post-mark  to  guide  him 
he  were  to  rush  forth,  and  seek  her  and  seek  her — seek 
her  all  over  the  world  if  need  be,  and  never  rest  until  he 
found  her? 

As  in  a  vision  Jim  saw  himself  so  pursuing;  and  the 
strength  of  his  impulse  brought  him  to  his  feet.  To 
find  her — that  was  the  main  thing.  Once  she  were  found, 
he  could  either  prevail  upon  her  to  do  as  he  wished,  or, 
if  he  could  do  no  better,  give  in  to  her  way  of  thinking. 
It  would  be  better  than  this,  whatever  came. 


294  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

But  his  vision  completed  itself  with  fatal  clearness. 
If  he  went  rushing  off  like  a  fool,  it  would  be  only  to  a 
renewal  of  disappointment.  He  might  indeed  find  her: 
the  world  was  not  so  large,  and  she  was  a  fairly  con- 
spicuous figure.  But  when  he  reached  her,  it  would  not 
be  to  offer  her  some  fine  bold  compromise,  such  as  she 
could  fairly  take;  or  even  to  make  the  man's  part  the 
more  generous,  and  submit  to  her  exactions.  It  would 
be  simply  to  renew  the  old  conflict.  No  matter  what 
his  longing  or  her  necessity,  he  could  take  her  only  on 
his  own  terms.  He  was  as  fatally  bound  by  his  tem- 
perament as  Zoe  by  hers.  He  saw  that  with  the  bright- 
ness of  a  vision,  and  knew  it  to  be  a  sober  fact. 

The  years  might  flow  on  in  everlasting  clarity  and 
emptiness,  leaving  him  the  husk  of  a  man,  and  making 
of  Zoe  what  they  would.  He  was  as  powerless  to 
change  the  character  of  what  they  brought  him  as  to 
alter  the  course  of  the  years  themselves.  Things  would 
go  on  and  on,  wearily,  boresomely,  irritating  alike  in  the 
changes  they  made  and  in  those  they  failed  to  make. 
Then  on  some  pair  of  days  he  and  Zoe  would  go  down 
to  final  extinction;  and  the  pitiful  part  would  not  be  the 
extinction,  but  the  fact  that  they  had  had  nothing  before 
it. 

Life  had  doubtless  become  a  flat  dull  matter,  without 
form  or  significance.  But  a  man  could  not  very  well  sit 
down  and  whine  about  it.  And  so  long  as  you  kept  go- 
ing and  tried  to  be  moderately  interested  in  something 
beside  your  aching  ego,  there  were  always  things  that 
did  interest  you,  pleasantly  or  painfully. 

Even  that  next  year  brought  several  such  items  to 
Jim.  In  November,  to  begin  with,  the  brother  next  him- 
self in  age  accomplished  his  long-threatened  breach  with 
his  wife.  She  went  abroad  to  heal  her  broken  heart, 


THE  SUNDERING  FLOOD  295 

with  a  promise  of  legal  proceedings  when  the  proper  time 
came;  and  Roy,  who  was  at  outs  with  himself  as  well 
as  with  her,  turned  to  Jim  in  his  trouble.  They  had  never 
been  intimate;  but  they  contracted  a  sort  of  intimacy 
now.  Jim  was  useful  to  his  brother  in  many  small  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  breaking  up  of  his  household 
and  with  his  divorce;  but  he  was  more  useful  in  the 
role  of  confidant.  Roy  Whittaker  fell  into  the  habit  of 
coming  to  Jim's  flat  whenever  he  thought  there  was  any 
chance  of  finding  him  there,  to  smoke  with  him  and  rail 
at  the  universe. 

Jim  listened  in  silence  for  the  most  part.  Some- 
times Roy  too  was  silent;  and  they  would  sit  all  the 
evening  grimly,  without  a  word  to  say  for  themselves. 
At  other  times  Roy  would  discharge  all  his  accumulated 
venom  at  the  world,  and  women,  and  marriage.  "You've 
done  damn  well  to  keep  out  of  it,  Jim,"  he  would  re- 
mark, and  perhaps  add,  "You  were  always  the  wisest 
of  the  family,  though  I  suppose  none  of  us  have  ever 
sufficiently  appreciated  that  fact.  I  used  to  think  you 
were  a  very  cool  duffer,  and  almost  to  despise  you  for 
shrinking  from  experience.  Experience — ha!" 

And  Jim  would  take  out  his  pipe  long  enough  to  re- 
mark, "Well,  perhaps  you  were  right,  Roy."  To  him- 
self that  seemed  like  high  irony;  but  Roy  interpreted  it 
as  a  simple  instance  of  Jim's  good  temper. 

If  Roy's  ill-starred  marriage  was  unmaking  itself 
during  those  winter  months,  another  marriage  was  at  the 
same  time  a-making  in  Jim's  small  circle  of  intimates. 
Jim  heard  of  it  one  evening  when  he  had  managed  to 
avoid  Roy,  and  had  gone  to  see  Jessica  Drummond.  He 
hadn't  seen  her  before  for  a  week.  Thanks  largely  to 
Roy,  and  partly  perhaps  to  other  reasons,  his  visits  had 
of  late  become  increasingly  infrequent;  and  their  fre- 


296  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

quency  was  not  aided  by  his  instinctively  perceiving 
that  although  Jessica's  feeling  toward  him  had  appar- 
ently not  altered,  she  did  not  seem  to  mind  his  not  com- 
ing oftener.  Perhaps  she  had  some  other  interest  now, 
he  thought,  meaning  by  "interest"  something  masculine. 

That,  it  proved,  was  exactly  the  case.  Jessica  had 
not  only  acquired  a  new  masculine  interest:  she  pur- 
posed to  marry  it.  Her  bridegroom  was  a  man  from 
California,  considerably  older  than  herself.  "He's  aw- 
fully honest  and  high-minded,  Jim,"  she  said.  "I  sup- 
pose he  isn't  a  shining  light  intellectually — he  can't  be, 
or  he  wouldn't  think  what  he  does  of  Jessica.  He  isn't 
a  fool,  though;  he  isn't  altogether  deceived  even  in  me. 
He  thinks  me  gay  and  good-tempered ;  and  I  am  gay  and 
good-tempered,  Jim.  And — who  knows? — I  may  in  time 
evolve  into  a  pretty  decent  sort." 

"A  pretty  decent  sort  is  what  you  are  now,"  said 
Jim.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are  going 
to  be  happy,  Jessica." 

"Aren't  you  glad  I  refused  you?"  she  asked  with  her 
own  saucy  little  smile.  "I  had  to  have  sense  for  us  two, 
just  about  that  time." 

"A  woman  usually  does  have  to  have,  at  one  time  or 
another,"  said  Jim.  "I'm  not  sure  even  yet  how  well 
you  did  for  me,  Jessica.  And  now  here  you  are  taking 
my  good  pal  away  from  me.  Shall  we  ever,  do  you 
suppose,  see  each  other  again  after  you  are  married?" 

"I  suppose  we  shall,"  she  answered.  "Jessica's  in- 
tended is  fairly  well  to  do — I  didn't  tell  you  that,  did  I  ? 
How  I  have  changed !  We  shall  probably  come  to  New 
York  from  time  to  time.  And  if  you  ever  come  out  to 
California,  of  course  you  will  come  to  see  us.  Come  on 
your  wedding  journey,  Jim." 


THE  SUNDERING  FLOOD  297 

"I'd  rather  not  postpone  my  visit  quite  so  long  as 
that,"  said  Jim. 

"Well,  you  will  come  to  my  wedding?" 

"Indeed  I  will.     When  is  it  to  be,  Jessica?" 

"New  Year's  Day.  There  isn't  any  point  in  our  wait- 
ing, and  I  haven't  many  preparations  to  make.  Just  you 
and  the  Evingtons  and  two  or  three  .others  are  to  be 
there;  but  come  and  try  to  make  it  gay,  won't  you?  I 
should  hate  a  weepy  little  wedding." 

It  turned  out  not  to  be  a  "weepy"  wedding;  the  only 
tears  were  those  unshed  in  the  bride's  eyes  when  Jim 
Whittaker  took  her  hand  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

There  came  over  them  both  just  then  a  flashing  per- 
ception of  how  happy  they  had  been  in  each  other;  and 
perhaps  they  both  felt  that  life  would  never  hold  any- 
thing better  for  either  than  the  cool  intimacy  which  they 
were  even  now  laying  away  in  lavender.  It  had  been 
given  them  to  help  each  other  over  their  respective  crises, 
to  give  human  sympathy  and  aid  without  compromise 
or  afterthought.  If  there  was  a  regret  now,  it  was  on 
Jim's  part ;  and  that  was  both  just  and  natural,  for  Jes- 
sica had  all  along  been  the  more  sincere  and  single- 
hearted  of  the  two. 

"Good-bye,  Jim;  good  luck,"  she  whispered. 

"Good-bye,  Jessica — and  thank  you,"  he  whispered 
back. 

So  the  surge  of  ordinary  events  carried  Jim  on.  For 
the  most  part  he  was  neither  happy  nor  unhappy.  He 
tried  to  be  busy  all  the  time,  and  not  to  think  about 
himself.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  settling,  settling 
toward  the  man  he  was  to  be;  and  when  he  did  allow 
himself  the  pleasure  of  introspection,  it  was  to  look  with 
some  curiosity  for  the  Jim  Whittaker  with  whom  he 
was  to  spend  the  latter  half  of  his  life. 


298  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

And  then  one  day  he  did  something  which  he  tried 
hard  to  persuade  himself  was  a  reasoned  thing,  and 
very  suitable  for  a  man  at  his  time  of  life.  Yet  he  ac- 
tually knew  that  he  did  it  on  a  mere  vagrant  impulse; 
and,  worse  still,  he  fulfilled  an  old  dream,  and  gave  in 
to  what  he  should  have  been  striving  to  forget.  But 
his  friends  approved  on  merely  practical  grounds;  and 
after  all  it  is  best  for  a  man  not  always  to  go  too  deeply 
into  the  motives  for  his  own  conduct 


CHAPTER  XXV 
A   HOUSE)  UPON   A   HIW, 

WHAT  Jim  did  was  to  buy  himself  a  house.  He 
could  afford  it ;  and  a  house  in  the  country  might 
well  be  of  benefit  to  him,  especially  during  the  summer. 
But  the  myriad  reasons  why  he  needed  a  house,  and  this 
particular  house,  Jim  thought  of  afterward,  to  prop  his 
tottering  self-esteem.  The  house  was  actually  bought 
with  no  definite  look  toward  utility,  and  with  no  thought 
to  practical  matters  of  plumbing  and  exposure;  it  was 
bought  from  the  baldest  sentimental  consideration,  be- 
cause it  was  a  white  house  upon  a  hill. 

Like  many  another  thing  done  in  all  rashness,  this 
purchase  turned  out  very  well.  This  was  not,  to  be  sure, 
a  spreading  marble  palace,  such  as  the  husband  of  a 
princess  might  have  bought;  it  was  not  even  framed  in 
ilexes.  It  was  a  good-sized,  substantial  frame  dwelling 
with  a  gable  roof  and  green  blinds ;  and  the  hill  it  crowned 
was  all  that  the  eye  or  the  soul  could  desire.  It  was 
within  motoring  distance  of  town,  and  within  easy  reach 
of  the  Evingtons,  with  whom  Jim  was  now,  in  the  fluctu- 
ations of  a  life's  interests,  once  more  on  intimate  terms. 

The  three  of  them  rode  over  on  horse-back  from  the 
Evingtons'  to  inspect  Jim's  purchase  before  he  planned 
any  alterations.  June  led  the  two  men  over  every  inch 
of  the  house,  taking  the  lead  naturally  away  from  the 
owner :  crooned  over  the  fire-places,  of  which  there  was 

299 


300  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

one  in  almost  every  room,  deplored  the  lack  of  modern- 
ity in  the  kitchen,  pointed  out  the  possibility  of  parti- 
tioning off  a  ball-room  and  perhaps  a  billiard-room  too 
in  the  garret,  selected  the  room  in  which  she  would  sleep 
when  Jim  gave  house-parties.  Stuart  grinned,  and  held 
his  peace;  Jim  was  relieved  to  find  that  after  all  it  ap- 
peared he  had  not  done  anything  irremediably  foolish. 

They  finally  went  back  to  the  largest  room,  where 
opened  blinds  let  the  sunshine  in  upon  the  dust.  "You 
think  that  the  whole  place  has  possibilities?"  Jim  asked. 

"Such  possibilities!"  June  dusted  her  skirt  with  her 
gloves,  and  her  strokes  emphasised  what  she  said.  "The 
proportions  and  all  are  right,  you  know;  what  you  have 
to  do  is  to  take  the  note  from  the  house  itself.  Furnish 
all  through  in  spindle-legged  mahogany  and  homespun 
blue  and  white " 

"Not  too  daintily,  June,"  protested  Jim.  "Remember 
this  is  for  a  single  man." 

"Not  daintily  at  all,"  said  June.  "But  when  you  have 
the  house  all  ready  to  live  in,  Jim,  you  will  probably 
decide  that  all  you  need  now  is  a  wife." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "Dear  lady,  don't  you  see  that 
this  house  is  an  acknowledgment,  and  if  you  like  a 
boast,  that  that  is  exactly  what  I  don't  need?" 

"Surely,  June,"  Evington  sided  in  with  his  friend. 
"This  is  to  be  an  establishment  run  by  a  man  alone  and 
for  a  man  alone — that  is,  if  Jimmie's  telling  the  truth. 
And  when  a  man  sets  up  for  himself  like  that,  it  signi- 
fies the  beginning  of  permanent  bachelorhood." 

June,  who  had  begun  quite  in  fun,  was  now  sweetly 
in  earnest.  "But  Jim's  so  young,"  she  protested,  speak- 
ing as  if  Jim  weren't  there  at  all. 

Jim  laughed  shortly.  It  came  sweeping  over  him,  as 
it  would  do  sometimes  even  now,  that  he  was  the  oldest 


A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  301 

old  man  who  had  lived  since  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
Then  came  the  saving  reflection  that  to  feel  old  in  that 
way  one  must,  after  all,  be  rather  young:  the  truly  old 
have  acquired  patience  and  lost  the  fine  ironic  bitterness 
that  drives  things  home.  He  remembered,  too,  that  he 
would  be  thirty-eight  the  next  month ;  and  he  knew  as  a 
matter  of  fact  that  thirty-eight  was  not  old. 

He  laughed  again,  this  time  with  the  pleasant  throaty 
laugh  his  friends  were  used  to  hearing.  "Will  you  help 
me  with  the  doing  over  and  the  furnishing,  June?"  he 
asked.  "I  am  a  permanent  bachelor,  indeed,  and  there- 
fore entitled  to  the  assistance  of  my  friend's  wife  in  such 
a  matter  as  this." 

"I  should  love  to,"  said  June  heartily. 

"Then  when  it's  all  ready  to  be  admired,  we'll  give  a 
house-warming,  and  you  and  Stuart  can  chaperone," 
Jim  went  on. 

"That  will  be  fun,  too,"  said  June,  dimpling.  "And 
we  won't  ask  any  too  susceptible  girls  to  the  house- 
warming,  or  any  too  appealing  girls:  because  the  house 
is  going  to  be  so  very  pretty  that  they  might  be  tempted, 
you  know,  to  try  and  possess  themselves  of  it;  and  then 
we  should  see  our  cherished  bachelorhood " 

"Go  hang,"  said  Jim.  "Well,  I  trust  your  judgment 
in  anything,  June." 

He  trusted  her  judgment,  to  be  sure,  rather  more  than 
he  did  her  intentions.  June  had  never  yet  tried  any 
match-making  on  his  behalf;  but  in  some  matters  all 
women  were  alike,  and  this  would  certainly  be  a  fine 
opportunity  for  June  to  do  just  what  she  expressly  dis- 
avowed any  idea  of  doing.  She  couldn't  do  any  harm, 
though.  She  wouldn't  do  anything,  he  was  confident, 
that  would  make  either  him  or  the  girl  ridiculous ;  and  as 
for  the  outcome  of  any  possible  series  of  machinations — 


302  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

well,  Jim's  soul  was  proofed  in  armour,  whether  he 
liked  it  or  not.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  like  it, 
except  in  this  connection. 

The  business  of  repairs  and  remodelling,  and  even  of 
looking  for  furniture  and  fittings  which  would  accord 
with  June's  decorative  scheme,  was  begun  at  once,  and 
went  merrily  forward  all  that  summer.  At  the  same 
time  Jim  employed  a  gardener,  so  that  the  outside  im- 
provements would  have  a  good  start  by  the  next  year. 
In  spite  of  drawbacks  the  gardener  did  well ;  he  had,  in- 
deed, something  to  work  on.  But  although  the  inside 
work  went  steadily  on,  there  was,  as  usually  happens  in 
such  cases,  more  to  do  than  had  been  expected.  Autumn 
found  them  only  fairly  well  along  with  the  inside  work. 
"I  do  hope  we  can  finish  before  spring,"  June  would 
say  as  she  surveyed  what  was  going  on.  "Stuart  wants 
to  go  abroad  in  the  spring,  and  it  would  be  fun  to  have 
the  house-warming  before  we  go." 

As  it  turned,  the  house  was  finished  and  almost  fur- 
nished before  the  Evingtons  left;  and  the  garden  was 
already  beginning  to  be  wonderful.  But  Jim  decided 
to  postpone  the  house-warming  until  just  after  their  re- 
turn. He  wanted  time,  he  said,  to  become  accustomed 
to  his  new  responsibilities;  he  didn't  care  to  call  his 
friends  in  as  witnesses  of  his  house-holding  until  he  had 
grown  into  the  house-holder's  part.  And  there  was  the 
question  of  servants ;  and  there  were — oh,  lots  of  things ! 
When  June  and  Stuart  returned,  they  wouldn't  lose  any 
time  in  having  their  party. 

What  actually  deterred  him  was  his  persistent  feel- 
ing that  this  house,  the  very  purchase  of  which  had  been 
a  sentimental  excess,  was  likely  to  lead  him  into  senti- 
mental excesses  all  along  the  line.  There  was  the  mat- 
ter of  a  bedroom,  for  instance.  The  house  had  two 


A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  303 

large  front  bedrooms,  one  of  which  June  suggested  that 
Jim  take  as  his.  But  Jim  demurred:  to  him  there  was 
something  connubial  in  their  very  size.  He  chose  a 
smaller  side  room,  on  the  plea  that  it  opened  on  the  gar- 
den, and  also  on  the  rising  sun:  he  discovered  an  un- 
suspected fancy  for  being  awakened  by  the  morning 
sun  in  his  eyes.  But  the  room  he  had  chosen  lay  just 
behind  the  more  desirable  of  the  front  bedrooms;  and 
he  encouraged  June  to  make  that  the  most  attractive 
room  in  the  house.  When  he  realised  what  he  had  done, 
he  was  disgusted ;  but  he  was  glad  that  June  apparently 
didn't  see  any  significance  in  what  they  had  done.  And 
June,  who  had  privately  no  doubt  that  that  best  bed- 
room had  been  furnished  for  a  not  impossible  she,  con- 
trived to  do  her  smiling  when  Jim  wasn't  looking. 

The  whole  house  was  very  attractive:  perhaps  shades 
of  desirability  existed  principally  in  Jim's  mind.  June 
had  kept  to  the  colonial  type  of  decoration  which,  as 
she  rightly  said,  the  house  suggested.  She  had  had  the 
wood-work  painted  white,  and  more  white  panelling  put 
in  than  the  house  had  originally  boasted.  She  had 
bought  the  slender-legged,  but  not  too  slender-legged, 
mahogany  that  she  had  threatened  in  the  beginning;  and 
she  had  shown  great  ingenuity  in  discovering  tufted  bed- 
spreads and  blue  and  white  home-spun  hangings.  But 
being  more  of  a  woman  than  a  decorator,  and  not  being 
Jim's  wife,  she  had  left  a  great  many  details  for  him  to 
settle  as  he  personally  pleased;  and  throughout  his  al- 
most "period"  interior  there  was  a  liberal  flavour  of  Jim 
Whittaker. 

Jim  did  not  give  up  his  flat  in  town,  although  it  would 
be  possible  for  him  to  reach  his  house  in  any  but  the 
worst  weather.  He  had  a  curious  feeling  that  the  flat 
was  what  was  suitable  for  a  man  in  his  position.  But 


304  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

he  moved  many  of  his  personal  belongings  out  to  his 
house,  and  as  the  weather  grew  warmer  took  to  spend- 
ing many  of  his  nights  and  all  his  week-ends  there.  He 
got  two  negroes,  man  and  wife,  as  servants;  and  either 
went  down  alone  or  took  his  brother  Roy  with  him.  Roy 
was  still  melancholy  company;  but  he  had  ceased  to 
talk  much  about  his  troubles.  Usually  Jim  was  only  sorry 
for  him,  and  conscious  of  a  duty  toward  him ;  but  there 
were  times  these  later  days  when  he  was  rather  pleas- 
antly aware  of  the  position  of  the  two  Whittakers  who 
sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  world  and  glowered  at  it.  The 
world  had  pointedly  done  for  them  both;  indeed,  they 
had  both  been  done  for  by  women.  And  Jim's  con- 
sciousness of  that  fact,  coupled  with  Roy's  total  lack 
of  suspicion  that  his  brother  was  in  anything  like  his 
own  fix,  gave  Jim  a  certain  grim  enjoyment. 

The  two  of  them  went  down  to  the  house  together  for 
two  weeks  in  August.  Mrs.  Roy  Whittaker  was  now 
establishing  a  residence  in  a  western  state  where  divorce 
is  easy;  and  Roy  was  beginning  to  be  interested  in 
dogs,  and  even  to  think  of  establishing  a  kennel.  Jim 
wished  no  kennel  on  his  premises;  and  they  disagreed 
healthily  about  it,  quite  as  they  had  always  disagreed 
when  they  were  young  men.  Toward  the  end  of  their 
fortnight,  indeed,  they  began  to  be  very  much  bored 
with  each  other's  society;  and  Jim  judged  from  that 
fact  that  they  were  both  pretty  much  at  normal.  Soon 
enough  they  would  cease  to  sit  together  on  the  edge  of 
the  world,  and  glower  at  it  in  unison.  Soon  enough 
they  would  both  plunge  back  into  it;  and  if  they  glow- 
ered when  they  chanced  to  meet,  it  would  be  at  each 
other. 

One  soft,  still  evening  just  before  they  moved  back 
to  town,  Roy  went  off  by  himself  for  a  walk.  Jim,  who 


A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  305 

had  been  out  of  doors  all  the  afternoon,  stayed  at  home. 
He  and  Roy  had  smoked  their  after-dinner  cigars  in  the 
library;  but  when  Roy  left  him  Jim  took  his  book  across 
the  hall  into  trie  austere  living-room,  because  the  garden 
was  on  this  side  of  the  house.  The  night-wind  that 
stirred  the  thin  curtains  brought  with  it  faint  sweet 
summer  smells,  smells  that  were  not  only  pleasant  in 
themselves,  but  reminded  Jim  pleasantly  of  his  afternoon 
out  among  them.  He  sat  down  to  read,  but  his  mind  was 
only  half  on  his  book.  He  was  thinking  that  he  would 
do  more  with  the  garden  another  year,  and  more  still 
another.  So  far  as  he  could  see,  the  house  was  quite 
perfect:  it  was  at  least  satisfactory,  and  might  remain 
indefinitely  just  as  it  was  now.  But  with  a  garden  one 
could  always  make  improvements  year  by  year,  could 
pass  from  a  coarser  perfection  to  a  finer,  learning  as 
one  worked,  and  so  at  length  grow  old,  surrounded  by 
roses  and  clematis  and  lavender. 

A  nest  in  which  to  grow  old— was  that  what  he  had 
had  in  mind  when  he  bought  this  house  ?  Well,  that  was 
not  a  bad  idea.  At  any  rate  there  was  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  the  whole  transaction.  He  had,  now  he 
came  to  think  of  it,  spent  the  last  year  wholesomely  and 
delightfully,  thanks  largely  perhaps  to  his  house.  Well, 
one  thing  had  lately  combined  with  another  to  make  him 
pretty  much  his  own  man  again. 

Jim  suddenly  flung  his  arms  above  his  head,  and 
stretched  every  nerve  in  sheer  delicious  abandonment  to 
his  own  strength.  He,  to  talk  of  getting  old !  Because 
he  had  once  weakly  fancied  that  things  were  in  a  mess 
for  him,  and  had  allowed  that  fancy  to  worry  him,  was 
he  now  to  believe  in  the  immanence  of  a  premature  old 
age,  or  indeed  even  in  the  gradual  advance  of  an  inevi- 
table old  age?  Every  fibre  in  him  splendidly  contra- 


306  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

dieted  the  idea:  his  whole  physique,  his  peaceful  mind, 
the  delicious  hour,  combined  to  push  it  into  absolute 
nothingness. 

He  could  not,  to  be  sure,  sit  still  as  he  had  once 
been  able  to.  Even  now  he  must  presently  get  up  and  go 
to  the  nearest  window,  to  look  out  at  the  summer  night. 
A  full  moon  rode  just  above  the  rustling  trees ;  the  gar- 
den was  bathed  in  the  kindest  light,  in  the  softest,  deep- 
est shadow.  Jim  leaned  with  his  arm  along  the  case- 
ment, drinking  in  the  peace  and  purity  of  the  scene;  not 
a  thing  seemed  to  move  all  down  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
until  you  came  to  the  grove  of  old  oaks  at  the  bottom; 
and  their  top  branches  moved  always,  always.  If  one 
could  only  get  up  there  and  ride,  as  one  used  in  child- 
hood to  dream  of  doing:  ride  in  the  wind,  and  play  with 
the  shadows! 

And  as  Jim's  spirit  was  riding  in  his  tree-tops,  there 
flashed  into  his  mind,  quite  uninvited,  a  sentence  of  the 
book  he  had  just  been  reading.  He  repeated  it  almost 
aloud,  "O,  wilt  thou  not  let  the  summer  days  be  sweet  ?" 
The  summer  days — and  the  summer  nights !  And  there 
in  the  clear  calm  of  the  unchanging  night,  the  old  long- 
ing rent  him:  the  old  sweetness,  the  old  ecstasy,  the 
old  loss. 

Drops  of  perspiration  came  out  on  his  forehead. 
"Nights  like  this  do  make  a  fellow  feel  sentimental," 
he  muttered  to  himself,  and  turned  away  from  the  win- 
dow. He  passed  the  chair  where  he  had  sat  a  moment 
before;  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
whole  being  in  a  curious  contraction.  He  was  fairly 
beyond  thought  at  first ;  but  thought  returned  to  him  soon 
enough,  and  he  tried  to  argue  with  himself.  He  hadn't 
so  much  as  thought  of  Zoe  Lenox  for  days,  he  told  his 
struggling  spirit.  He  didn't  care  to  think  about  her; 


A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  307 

he  didn't  actually  even  want  her  any  more.  He  was 
satisfied  with  things  as  they  were:  must  he  always  be- 
long to  her,  body  and  soul,  until  his  dying  day? 

He  tried  to  laugh  at  his  mood;  indeed  he  saw  it  as 
ridiculous  enough.  But  his  laughter  came  with  diffi- 
culty, and  sounded  horribly  hollow.  Then  he  gave  him- 
self all  the  accustomed  excuses:  the  night,  moonlight, 
loneliness,  too  much  reading.  He  even,  as  he  passed  it 
lying  where  he  had  dropped  it  on  the  floor,  kicked  at 
the  golden  fiction  "of  William  Morris.  Golden  ladies 
in  golden  days:  he  hadn't  any  business  to  be  reading 
about  them  anyway. 

Discovering  that  it  was  useless  to  struggle  against  his 
mood,  Jim  gave  in  to  it  deliberately.  If  he  must  think 
about  Zoe,  he  would  think  about  her  completely.  He 
got  all  her  letters,  and  spread  them  out  before  him;  he 
unfolded  one  by  one,  and  read  in  order,  all  his  clippings 
about  her.  There  were  the  older  ones,  which  he  had 
not  succeeded  in  burning,  and  newer  bits  as  well.  Prob- 
ably Jim  hadn't  missed  many  allusions  to  her  in  the 
newspapers,  except  her  "season's  sensation."  In  spite 
of  himself,  he  was  still  a  reader  of  the  class  of  paper 
and  the  portion  thereof  which  dealt  freely  and  "chat- 
tily" with  celebrities  and  near-celebrities.  Now  he  went 
minutely  over  all  the  silly  stuff. 

It  told  him  some  curious  facts.  The  object  of  his 
interest,  it  appeared,  was  in  these  days  much  in  Paris; 
she  had  a  salon,  or  at  least  a  following,  and  was  even 
herself  dabbling  in  painting  now.  This  departure  the 
papers  took  with  seriousness,  because  the  departing  one 
had  money  and  prestige.  Jim  knew  how  seriously  it 
ought  actually  to  be  taken,  knew  that  Zoe  herself  was 
too  wise  to  take  it  seriously.  She  was  not  an  artist ;  she 
had  not  in  her  the  makings  of  an  artist.  She  was  simply 


308  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

bored  and  restless;  and  for  a  season  she  had  resolved  to 
queen  it  in  that  superior  Bohemia  where  the  stimuli  were 
sharper,  where  the  diversions  impinged  more  directly  on 
the  nerves,  than  in  the  world  to  which  she  was  better 
accustomed. 

She  might  succeed  in  deceiving  even  herself  for  a 
time.  She  would  at  any  rate  find  plenty  of  people  who 
were  ready  to  tell  her  what  she  wanted  to  hear.  But  Jim 
Whittaker  knew  better.  Zoe  might  think,  the  people 
who  surrounded  her  might  think,  that  she  was  leading 
a  life  which  was  fairly  well  suited  to  her  endowments, 
both  natural  and  social.  But  Jim,  alone  in  his  colonial 
drawing-room  of  a  scented  summer  night,  knew  that 
hers  was  a  life  awry. 

"  'Wilt  thou  not  let  the  summer  days  be  sweet  ?'  take 
what  they  have  to  offer,  humble  though  it  be?  The 
very  taking  will  ennoble  it.  Wilt  thou  not  face  what  is, 
and  accept  what  must  be,  and  perhaps  even  at  the  con- 
summation grow  old  along  with  me?  Or  at  the  worst, 
shall  we  not  fail  honourably  together,  and  part  shat- 
tered but  at  peace?" 

It  was  the  great  question  on  which  they  had  split. 
Jim  could  take  things  simply  and  take  them  whole — or 
at  least  he  had  once  been  able  to.  But  Zoe  must  be  for- 
ever weighing  and  measuring,  forever  rejecting  any- 
thing that  didn't  fit  in  with  her  ideal  of  herself.  And 
youth  was  leaving  them,  and  the  sumrner  days  were 
going  beyond  recall.  And  some  things  were  fading 
as  youth  went;  that  was  worse  than  the  very  going  of 
youth.  But  the  bitterness  of  moments  like  this  never 
faded,  even  when  one  was  beginning  to  be  bored  with 
the  whole  affair.  The  bitterness  of  what  has  been  may 
pass;  the  bitterness  of  what  is  must  be  endured.  But 
the  bitterness  of  what  has  never  been,  of  what  human 


A  HOUSE  UPON  A  HILL  309 

perversity  has  never  allowed  to  be,  is  a  bitterness  that 
never  sweetens. 

Jim  laid  down  the  last  of  his  clippings,  and  his  eyes 
went  over  his  drawing-room,  and  out  to  the  garden  be- 
yond. The  austere  beauty  of  which  he  had  here  pos- 
sessed himself  would  be  a  background  not  unworthy  of 
a  king's  daughter.  A  king's  daughter — or  a  pirate's; 
it  might  be  hers  to  possess  and  colour.  Only  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  hanger-back,  herself  still  more  a  hanger-back, 
might  not  enter  here.  And  there  was  only  one  such ;  and 
she  was  the  one  person  whose  entry  was  needed  to  make 
the  whole  thing  perfect. 

Well,  he  was  bored  with  the  whole  affair,  or  rather 
perhaps  with  himself  for  making  so  much  of  it.  One 
by  one  Jim  twisted  up  his  clippings  and  lighted  them; 
when  each  was  blazing  nicely,  he  tossed  it  into  the  grate. 
Her  letters  he  threw  in  all  together;  and  when  they  had 
burned  he  stirred  the  ashes  w'ith  a  poker,  to  obliterate 
the  last  faint  traces  of  her  writing.  Of  course,  he  knew 
every  word  of  them  all  by  heart,  could  even  see  in  his 
mind's  eye  how  all  the  words  looked  as  she  wrote  them. 
But  to  part  from  the  actual  letters  was  something,  was 
more  than  he  had  once  been  capable  of.  Yes,  his  weari- 
ness was  increasing;  and  it  was  high  time  that  it  did. 

Jim  went  upstairs  presently,  hoping  to  get  away  from 
Roy.  The  thought  of  Roy  was  too  much  for  him  to- 
night. But  Roy,  entering  half  an  hour  later,  pursued 
Jim  to  his  bedroom  with  talk  of  his  projected  kennel. 
"It  isn't  as  if  I  wanted  to  keep  big  dogs,"  he  explained, 
just  as  he  had  explained  twenty  times  before.  "Bostons 
will  never  annoy  anybody.  It  isn't  as  if " 

Jim  sat  up  in  bed  to  contradict  him  more  impres- 
sively. "Small  dogs  are  a  bigger  bother  than  large ;  they 


310  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

haven't  any  dignity;  they  aren't  ever  still/'  he  main- 
tained. 

"But  the  place  is  so  big.    You  would  never  know " 

"If  you  want  to  keep  dogs,  get  a  place  of  your  own. 
I  wouldn't  object  to  a  dog  or  two  in  the  house,  of 
course;  but  I  won't  have  any  kennel  here  so  long  as 
this  place  belongs  to  me." 

"It  belongs  to  you,  of  course.  But  you  don't  know 
what  you're  missing,  Jim." 

And  so  the  argument  went  on,  with  more  than  usual 
vehemence  on  Jim's  side.  He  was  nervous,  for  one 
thing;  but  he  was  awfully  grateful  to  Roy,  after  all,  for 
coming  in  so  to  disturb  him.  His  silly  talk  about  kennels 
was  at  least  a  man's  talk ;  and  any  masculine  note,  how- 
ever silly,  was  music  to  Jim  to-night. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A   WARMED   HOUSE)   MAY   ffAU,   COLD  AGAIN 


BUT  finally  and  actually,  the  house  wasn't  Jim's  at 
all:  it  was  Zoe's.  Jim  had  bought  it  without  a 
thought  to  her  —  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  think  of 
her  in  connection  with  these  rooms  which  she  would 
never  enter.  If  she  didn't  enter  them,  though,  perhaps 
it  was  partly  because  she  didn't  have  to.  He  had  got 
him  a  lodge  in  the  wilderness,  and  dedicated  it  to  a 
peaceful  middle  life;  and  her  unquiet  spirit  had  per- 
vaded it,  marring  the  peace  of  his  retreat,  but  height- 
ening its  interest.  He  might  send  Zoe  in  the  flesh  away 
from  him;  he  might  send  his  mementoes  of  her  up  the 
chimney,  with  a  fervent  hope  that  his  memory  of  her 
would  somehow  follow.  She  was  not  to  be  so  eluded: 
she  was  in  the  air  he  breathed. 

He  was  at  home  in  the  house,  and  accustomed  to  the 
spirit  that  haunted  it,  by  the  time  that  summer  had 
merged  into  fall.  In  the  fall  the  Evingtons  came  back 
to  America;  and  a  week  after  they  landed  Jim  gave  his 
promised  house-warming.  It  was  absurd,  of  course,  to 
call  it  a  house-warming  :  the  house  had  already,  to  Jim's 
mind,  been  much  lived  in,  had  acquired  its  stock  of  sug- 
gestions and  memories,  most  of  which  to  be  sure  he 
had  unpacked  as  he  unpacked  his  books. 

At  any  rate,  though,  he  gave  a  nice  party;  and  for 
a  nice  party  any  excuse  will  do,  and  none  at  all  is  needed. 
Jim's  guests,  chosen  by  himself  and  June,  were  con- 

3" 


312  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

genial;  the  household  arrangements  proved  surprisingly 
adequate.  The  weather  could  not  have  been  better  if 
they  had  ordered  it:  the  clear,  crisp  autumnal  air  lured 
one  abroad  in  the  day-time,  and  brought  one  gratefully 
home  at  night.  Jim's  guests  seemed  to  enjoy  every- 
thing; and  Jim  found  himself  unexpectedly  in  his  ele- 
ment. He  enjoyed  the  party  from  the  very  first:  per- 
haps in  time  his  settling  spirit  would  come  to  enjoy 
this  kind  of  thing  more  than  all  other  kinds  of  things. 

He  reached  the  apex  of  his  contentment  on  Saturday. 
As  the  party  was  breaking  up  for  the  night,  Jim  detained 
Stuart  Evington.  "Are  you  sleepy  yet?"  he  wished  to 
know. 

Evington  shook  his  head:  he  was  never  sleepy.  His 
keen  tired  eyes  showed  that  he  knew  what  was  coming; 
already  his  smile  welcomed  it.  "Don't  you  want  to 
come  to  my  room  and  have  a  talk-over?"  asked  Jim. 

They  went  together  up  the  stairs,  and  along  the  hall 
to  the  room  that  Jim  had  made  his.  A  fire  was  laid  in 
the  grate;  Jim  touched  a  match  to  it,  and  they  drew  up 
their  chairs.  The  fire  blazed  up,  and  they  sat  and 
watched  it,  both  luxuriously  silent.  The  same  thought 
was  in  their  two  minds ;  they  both  needed  this  moment  to 
realise  the  ultimate  Tightness  of  things.  For  this  was 
the  first  time  that  they  had  sat  together  so  since  the 
night  when  Jim,  newly  returned  from  the  Helga,  had 
learned  his  thralldom  and  broken  his  appointment.  Now 
the  goodly  custom  of  years  was  renewed,  with  no  hint 
on  either  side  as  to  its  breach;  and  they  owed  to  the 
renewal  the  tribute  of  a  moment's  sifence. 

Soon,  however,  they  began  to  talk;  and  just  as  of 
old,  Jim  did  most  of  the  listening  and  Stuart  most  of 
the  talking.  He  had  gathered  on  his  travels  an  in- 
finite amount  of  material;  and  now  that  he  had  the 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD     313 

select  companion  and  the  inspiring  hour,  he  poured  it 
forth  endlessly.  For  such  moments  as  this  it  was  that 
he  lived  his  daily  life. 

Jim  listened,  sometimes  attentively,  sometimes  a  lit- 
tle bit  absently.  He  wasn't  sleepy,  but,  he  was  relaxed, 
dreamy,  quite  delightfully  at  peace.  Little  pictures  of 
the  day's  happenings  came  drifting  through  his  head, 
forming  a  sort  of  background  to  what  Stuart  was  say- 
ing. Good  old  Stuart — he  was  really  worth  listening  to ! 
Jim  had  missed  these  talks  with  him.  He  couldn't  say 
why  he  hadn't  renewed  them  sooner:  perhaps  fear  of 
giving  himself  away  had  had  something  to  do  with  it.  A 
silly  fear  in  the  beginning,  and  sillier  now  because  it 
was  outworn.  He  had  now  nothing  to  give  away. 

Two  o'clock  struck  just  as  Stuart  was  getting  wound 
up;  at  three,  he  was  in  form  to  talk  all  the  rest  of  the 
night.  Jim,  who  had  been  outdoors  all  day,  began  to 
get  sleepy  along  toward  four;  he  wondered  if  he 
mightn't  tactfully  break  up  the  conference. 

Suddenly  through  the  haze  that  was  beginning  to 
surround  him  a  question  struck  swift  and  sharp.  Jim 
lifted  his  head,  awake  at  once,  and  alert.  "Whom  do 
you  suppose,"  Evington  had  asked,  "whom  do  you  sup- 
pose I  met  in  Paris?" 

Jim  had  a  smile  for  his  own  folly:  at  that  moment, 
indeed,  he  had  almost  given  himself  away.  "I'm  sure  I 
can't  guess.  One  may  meet  almost  anybody  in  Paris," 
he  said  aloud. 

"But  this  was  a  most  particular  somebody,"  insisted 
Evington. 

"Fine  or  superfine,  as  we  used  to  say  when  we  played 
forfeits?" 

"Superfine.  A  finer  couldn't  be  produced.  My  old 
friend  Zoe  Lenox." 


314  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"Zoe — Lenox?"  Jim  repeated. 

Evington  chose  to  take  it  that  his  friend  was  puzzled 
as  to  the  lady's  identity.  "Yes.  Don't  you  remember 
meeting  her  at  my  house  three  or  four  years  ago?  I 
told  you  about  her  then.  A  sufficiently  unusual  woman, 
and  a  great  beauty — you  couldn't  forget  her.  We  were 
all  going  yachting  with  her  after  that ;  but  our  kids  got 
measles  or  something,  and  the  trip  never  came  off." 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Jim.  "I  remember  her  perfectly.  I 
remember  all  you  told  me  about  her,  too.  She  had  quite 
a  romantic  story,  hadn't  she?" 

"Yes.  I'm  glad  you  remember.  I  hate  to  have  any 
of  my  stories  forgotten,  especially  when  I'm  about  to 
put  you  in  possession  of  the  sequel,"  said  Evington. 

"Then  there  is  a  sequel?" 

"Indeed  there  is.  There  was  bound  to  be,  you  know. 
No  human  woman  could  go  on  all  her  life  as  Zoe  was 
going.  No  half -human  woman,  even,  could  do  it.  Per- 
haps that  is  actually  what  our  friend  is,  only  half- 
human." 

"Yes.  I've  heard  you  say  that  before,"  said  Jim 
shortly. 

"Ah,  doubtless  I  do  repeat  myself!  The  garrulity  of 
age>  y°u  know,"  Evington  explained,  "and  a  natural 
liking  for  a  good  subject." 

"Yes.    You  do  like  a  good  subject,  Stuart." 

"I  admit  it;  and  Miss  Lenox  is  a  very  good  subject. 
She  has  always  remained  a  conundrum  to  me,  Jim. 
How  a  woman  could  be  all  that  she  is,  and  at  the  same 
time  be  no  more,  is  what  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see." 

"You  have  a  consistent  mental  picture  of  her,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Jim. 

"In  other  words  a  theory,  and  it  colours  all  I  see? 
Well,  perhaps,"  said  Evington. 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD     315 

"You  describe  the  lady,"  went  on  Jim,  "as  a  woman 
whom  a  man  might,  I  should  think,  do  almost  anything 
to  achieve ;  and  then  he  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  with 
her  when  he  had  got  her." 

"I'd  keep  her  in  a  cage,  if  she  belonged  to  me,"  said 
Evington.  "But  the  question  of  what  to  do  with  her 
when  they  got  her  was  the  last  thing  that  ever  bothered 
any  of  the  men  Zoe  knew.  The  difficulty  was  just  that 
they  couldn't  any  of  them  get  her." 

"Unassailable,  was  she?" 

"Unassailable,  until "  Evington  paused  to  refill 

his  pipe,  for  the  twentieth  time  that  evening;  his  fingers 
moved  with  maddening  deliberation. 

Jim  tried  to  wait  for  the  completion  of  the  filling,  and 
couldn't.  "Until — ?"  he  demanded.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  tone  in  which  the  word  came  out  must  lift  his 
friend  off  his  chair. 

Evington,  however,  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed. 
He  lighted  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  be- 
fore he  resumed;  and  then  the  first  thing  he  said  was, 
"Until  lately." 

He  puffed  placidly  for  a  moment,  and  then  removed 
his  pipe  to  say,  "In  a  story  taken  from  life,  you  see, 
there  are  always  lacunae  and  lapses.  The  omniscient 
novelist  can  give  you  the  whole  thing  from  beginning 
to  end,  from  the  colour  of  the  heroine's  underwear  to 
her  sensations  when  she  has  her  baby.  The  humble  but 
veracious  raconteur,  on  the  other  hand,  has  to  give  you 
simply  what  comes  under  his  own  eye." 

"Why  this  lengthy  apology?"  asked  Jim,  speaking 
more  naturally  now.  "I  never  asked  you,  to  borrow 
your  own  elegant  phrase,  the  colour  of  anybody's  under- 
wear." 

"No.    You've  always  taken  what  I  have  chosen  to  im- 


316  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

part.  You  have  always  been  a  charming  audience,  Jim, 
as  our  friendship  of  years  will  bear  witness.  Don't 
think  I'm  not  appreciative." 

An  hour  ago  those  words  on  his  friend's  lips  would 
have  delighted  Jim  beyond  measure.  Now  they  added 
fuel  to  his  consuming  impatience,  which  he  was  trying 
to  beat  down  by  telling  himself  that  probably  after  all 
he  wouldn't  hear  anything  worth  listening  to  about  Zoe. 
But  it  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard  anything  at  all: 
and  one  could  get  so  very  hungry  for  trifles. 

"What  is  the  lacuna  in  this  case?"  he  allowed  himself 
to  ask. 

"The  last  three  or  four  years,  to  be  sure,"  replied  the 
"veracious  raconteur."  "I  heard  rumours,  indeed; 
and  I  remember  reading  in  our  papers  of  an  engage- 
ment to  an  Italian  prince,  and  of  its  breaking  off.  But 
that  doesn't  fill  in  very  much." 

"Probably  there  wasn't  much  that  was  worthy  of  rec- 
ord or  recounting,"  Jim  suggested.  "A  few  of  the  usual 
years  of  an  idle  rich  woman." 

"Ah,  that's  just  where  you're  wrong!"  exclaimed 
Evington.  "In  the  time  we  speak  of,  something  has 
happened  to  her,  and  left  its  mark." 

"Left  a  mark  on  that  smooth  surface?  That  is  very 
hard  to  believe."  To  himself  Jim  was  saying,  "It  wasn't 
just  my  imagination,  then.  She  loved  me !  She  needed 
me!"  And  he  continued  to  look  at  Stuart  with  polite 
interest. 

"That  surface  isn't  so  smooth  any  more,"  Evington 
informed  him.  "You  know,  she  used  to  seem  to  me  like 
some  great  Pagan  deity.  Perhaps  it  was  largely  her 
looks ;  but  I  think  there  was  a  certain  spiritual  basis  for 
the  comparison." 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD     317 

"Very  possibly,"  said  Jim,  recalling  his  golden-haired, 
far-striding  one. 

"Well,  if  that  is  the  case,"  went  on  Evington,  en- 
joying himself  hugely,  "she  has  repeated  in  her  own 
person  the  history  of  our  civilisation.  During  that 
lacuna  of  which  I  speak  she  passed  through  the  Middle 
Ages;  and  they  have  left  her  a  modern  woman." 

"Do  you  mean — a  broken  woman  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"A  harassed  and  feverish  woman:  a  woman  you  can 
imagine  weeping  to  herself  o'  nights,  instead  of  en- 
joying the  deep  and  dreamless  sleep  of  a  Pagan  god- 
dess," replied  Evington. 

"You  speak  with  some  gusto,"  said  Jim. 

"I  saw  with  interest,  although  with  some  pain,"  re- 
turned his  friend. 

Jim  heard  with  more  than  a  little  pain;  the  subject 
had  its  dangers,  too.  But  now  that  Stuart  fell  silent, 
as  if  to  drop  that  phase  of  the  subject,  Jim  brought  him 
back  to  it.  He  had  to  hear  every  word.  "In  what 
form,"  he  asked,  "should  you  say  that  the  Middle  Ages 
would  present  themselves  to  a  woman  of  her  endow- 
ment?" 

"With  my  native  crudity,"  answered  Evington,  "I 
should  say,  in  the  form  of  a  man." 

Now  that  Stuart  was,  as  they  say  in  children's  games, 
"warmer,"  Jim  for  some  reason  felt  more  at  his  ease. 
"Well,  there  was  her  Italian  prince,"  he  suggested. 

Evington  shook  his  head.  "If  a  prince  could  cut 
such  a  swathe  with  her,  it  would  give  me  an  increased 
respect  for  royalty.  Quite  a  man,  I  should  say,  would 
be  required  to  affect  such  a  woman  so  strongly." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Jim  demurred,  beginning  to  like 
the  very  ticklishness  of  the  conversation.  "It  mightn't 
be  anything  in  the  man  himself,  you  know.  It  might  be 


318  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

something  in  the  lady,  or  some  chance  in  the  whole  situa- 
tion. The  man  might  be  as  ordinary  a  fellow  as  you 
or  I." 

"Yes.  He  might  even  be  you  or  I.  But  if  he  were, 
his  cutting  the  swathe  would  be  proof  to  my  mind  that, 
in  spite  of  all  appearances  to  the  contrary,  he  really  was 
a  very  remarkable  man,"  said  Evington. 

His  eye  was  on  Jim  as  he  spoke,  his  kindly,  critical 
eye,  which  always  saw  so  much.  There  was  no  telling 
how  much  he  saw  in  this  matter;  perhaps  in  three 
guesses  he  could  have  got  quite  to  the  bottom  of  it. 
Jim  felt  a  sudden  sharp  desire  to  tell  him  all;  felt  that 
his  soul  would  be  rid  of  half  its  burden,  once  it  were 
confessed.  He  checked  the  impulse  before  it  actually 
led  him  to  speech :  there  were  some  things  a  man  didn't 
tell,  however  great  his  longing  for  sympathy  or  his 
unselfish  desire  to  complete  a  friend's  good  story. 

Perhaps,  too,  they  could  actually  tell  each  other  more 
by  allusion  and  innuendo  than  their  Anglo-Saxon  shame- 
facedness  would  ever  allow  them  to  speak  out.  At  any 
rate,  it  gave  Jim  a  certain  oblique  pleasure  to  dally  thus 
with  his  subject.  "Prince  or  commoner,"  he  said,  "yon 
think  that  a  man  made  this  woman  human,  and  then 
they  separated?  I  am  to  understand  that  they  did  sepa- 
rate, am  I  not?  You  never  saw  him  with  her  in  Paris, 
this  hypothetical  conqueror  of  hers?" 

"No.  I  never  saw  him  or  heard  her  speak  of  him.  I 
suppose  that  there  was  such  a  man;  but  he  either  left 
her  or  was  sent  away.  Very  likely  he  was  sent  away. 
Whatever  happened,  he  was  a  fool  to  leave  her." 

Jim  could  not  restrain  a  start  as  that  last  sentence 
came  crackling  out.  "Why?"  he  asked.  "What  do 
you  mean?  Did  he — leave  the  field  clear  for  another 
man?" 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD     319 

"For  rather  less  than  a  man,"  answered  Evington. 
"When  a  woman  who  has  become  modern — oh,  all  too 
modern,  Jim ! — falls  out  with  her  man,  she  usually  takes 
to  a  brute.  It's  a  natural  resource,  now  that  convents 
are  out  of  date.  I've  seen  the  thing  happen  before.  I 
hope  never  to  see  it  happen  again." 

For  a  moment  Jim  sat  utterly  quiet,  not  even  breath- 
ing. Evington  went  on  with  a  certain  wryness,  "I  wish 
I  hadn't  even  seen  that,  let  alone  spoken  of  it.  I  see 
too  much  for  my  own  comfort,  to  be  sure;  but  there 
are  some  things  a  man  can't  be  excused  for  repeating 
about  a  woman,  I'm  afraid.  This  seems  to  be  one  of 
them.  I  didn't  realise  when  I  began  quite  how  dis- 
tasteful the  topic  would  be.  Let's  consider  it  all  unsaid, 
Jim,  and  drop  the  topic  now." 

Jim  didn't  hear  those  final  sentences;  for  a  few  mo- 
ments the  world  seemed  to  have  fallen  silent  all  about 
him.  Then  his  own  chair  scraped  back  across  his  ar- 
tistically bare  floor,  struck  the  edge  of  a  homespun  rug, 
and  toppled  over.  Jim  stood  where  his  single  bound 
had  placed  him ;  and  now  all  the  world  seemed  to  whirl 
about  him,  and  to  jeer  at  him  as  it  whirled.  He  heard 
his  own  voice,  seeming  to  come  from  somewhere  outside 
himself.  Then  once  more  there  was  that  ghastly  silence; 
and  his  universe  seemed  to  gather  itself  together  for 
some  horrible  final  convulsion  that  should  put  an  end 
to  him. 

Evington's  hand  fell  on  his  arm;  Evington's  familiar 
face  came  close,  all  strange  concern.  "Jim,  I  didn't 
know — I  couldn't  realise — I  was  lying,  Jim,  or  at  least 
as  good  as  lying.  I  ought  to  be  shot;  I  was  talking 
to  hear  myself  talk,  and  I  might  have  known — I  have 
suspected." 

"It's  all  true  enough,"   Jim  managed  to  say  quite 


320  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

clearly.      "Yes,    you    must    have    suspected,     Stuart." 

"Nothing  worse  can  be  said  about  her  than  about 
most  women,"  Evington  assured  him.  "I  should  have 
kept  my  tongue  off  her,  and  my  beastly  thoughts  to  my- 
self." 

"It's  only  about  some  women  that  we  care  what  is 
said,"  replied  Jim.  He  tried  to  smile,  and  produced  a 
ghastly  distortion  of  feature  that  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  Evington's  contrition. 

"Jim,  I  would  have  bitten  my  tongue  out  before  I 

Oh,  I  suspected,  but  I'never  believed  my  own  suspicions. 
You  couldn't  tell  me,  I  suppose;  but  Jim,  why  did  you 
make  such  an  effort  to  conceal  it?  It  must  have 
half " 

"Half  nothing,"  said  Jim  shortly.  He  was  already 
ashamed  of  himself  for  giving  way  as  he  had,  and  of 
his  friend  for  taking  so  much  notice  of  his  disturbance. 
He  started  toward  the  fire,  and  wavered  in  his  walk. 
That  made  him  farther  ashamed.  He  sat  down  in  the 
chair  Evington  had  vacated,  and  avoided  Evington's 
eye.  "Pour  me  a  drink  of  brandy,  will  you,  Stuart?" 
he  asked.  "In  the  cabinet  there — the  next  shelf." 

He  drank,  and  set  the  glass  down  carefully.  Then 
he  made  a  great  effort  to  recover  the  tone  of  ordinary 
conversation.  It  seemed  to  him  that  much  depended  on 
his  being  able  to  talk  along  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened; and  of  course  he  still  had  a  great  deal  to  learn. 
"Please  forgive  my  hysterics,  Stuart,"  he  said.  "You 
were  saying ?" 

"As  I've  told  you  so  much,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go 
on,"  said  Evington,  relieved  to  see  that  Jim  was  pulling 
himself  together.  "Fd  better  tell  you  all  I  know.  It 
really  isn't  so  very  bad;  it's  not  half  as  bad  as  what 
you  will  imagine  if  you  are  left  to  yourself." 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD 

"It  involves  her — lover?"  asked  Jim. 

"Yes.  Of  course  most  of  what  I  know  is  only  hear- 
say, although  I  did " 

"You  saw  them  together?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  the  brute  like?  I  think  that  was  what  you 
called  him — the  brute?" 

"My  liking  for  strong  language,  Jim.  I  dare  say 
he  doesn't  discredit  her  taste.  He's  a  Frenchman,  a 
highly  popular  and  successful  actor.  A  handsome  man, 
and  powerful  in  a  way — well,  you  know  what  those 
Frenchmen  are.  Personally,  I  would  rather  see  a  daugh- 
ter of  mine  take  up  with  a  good  honest  coal-heaver ;  but 
I  suppose  this  really  isn't  so  bad,  as  things  go  in  the 
great  world." 

It  must  be  pretty  bad,  Jim  thought,  or  Stuart  wouldn't 
keep  striving  to  minimise  it.  But  Stuart  was  upset 
about  his  friend.  Well,  then  Jim  must  show  him  how 
absolutely  collected  he  was.  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
the  brandy  he  had  drunk ;  and  as  it  mounted  to  his  head 
he  was  conscious  of  a  thirst  for  the  undisguised  truth. 
"It's  one  of  those  affairs  everybody  seems  to  know 
about?"  he  suggested. 

"I'm  afraid  he  has  made  rather  a  parade  of  it,"  Eving- 
ton  admitted. 

Something  seemed  to  stick  in  Jim's  throat  for  a  min- 
ute; but  he  managed  to  say  quite  coolly,  "You  see,  I 
have  imagined  everything.  There  is  nothing  left  for 
you  to  tell." 

"Nothing,  I  see." 

"Was  it  still  going  on  when  you  left  Paris?"  asked 
Jim. 

"Yes.  But  if  I  hazarded  a  guess,  I  should  say  that  it 
wouldn't  go  on  much  longer." 


322  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

"No.     It  could  hardly  go  on  forever,"  said  Jim. 

Evington  laid  another  log  on  the  fire,  righted  Jim's 
overturned  chair,  and  sat  down.  Silence  fell  between 
them;  and  all  about  them  was  the  quiet  of  a  sleeping 
household.  It  was  very  late,  and  there  was  nothing 
more  to  say;  but  he  didn't  like  to  leave  his  friend  alone 
with  his  thoughts. 

Abruptly  Jim  turned  to  him.  "How  does  she  look, 
Stuart?"  he  asked.  And  then  without  waiting  for  an 
answer  he  began  to  talk,  and  told  his  friend  everything. 

There  was  more  to  tell  than  Jim  had  thought;  and  it 
had  been  stored  so  long  in  his  mind,  had  rehearsed  it- 
self so  often  for  his  benefit,  that  it  came  forth  now  as 
a  story  rivalling  in  finish  one  of  Stuart's  own.  And  as 
he  told  it  the  whole  intrigue  was  clearer  to  him  than  it 
had  ever  been  before :  each  part  seemed  to  fall  into 
place  and  assume  significance,  and  the  whole  had  a  thrill 
that  lifted  him  beyond  himself,  as  well  as  beyond  any 
reserve  that  he  owned  or  had  cultivated.  The  initial 
fluke  by  which  he  had  been  carried  off  in  the  Helga, 
and  Zoe's  native  unconcern,  which  had  allowed  him  to 
remain — it  all  sprang  from  that.  It  all  sprang  from 
her,  actually. 

Then  came  the  golden  days  when  their  love  had 
grown  up  within  them:  he  could  only  touch  on  that 
lightly  to  Stuart,  but  it  kindled  afresh  within  him  as 
he  talked ;  and  it  culminated  afresh  for  him,  as  he  hinted 
at  its  culmination.  And  then  came  the  grey  story  of 
Zoe's  renunciation,  of  her  finally  refusing  Jim  and  send- 
ing him  about  his  business. 

Here  Stuart  for  the  first  time  interrupted.  "By  God, 
you  shouldn't  have  gone!"  he  cried.  "Not  if  you  had 
to  carry  your  own  trunk  up  the  stairs  of  her  hotel,  and 


A  WARMED  HOUSE  MAY  FALL  COLD    323 

put  it  down  in  her  room,  and  yourself  on  top  of  it.  You 
shouldn't,  you  simply  shouldn't  have  left  her!" 

"I  know  I  shouldn't  have  left  her,  Stuart,"  Jim 
paused  to  argue.  "But  you  must  take  into  account  the 
defences  that  women  can  put  up,  and  that  civilisation 
has  taught  us  to  respect.  And  I  didn't  want  to  hold  her 
simply  by  our  common  past." 

"Better  hold  her  by  it  than  leave  her  at  the  mercy 
of  it,"  insisted  Evington.  "Though  of  course  my  wis- 
dom is  ex  post  facto,  and  under  the  conditions  you  pic- 
ture I  myself  should  undoubtedly  have  acted  quite  as 
you  did." 

Jim's  story  stopped  there;  perhaps  it  would  have 
stopped  there  even  if  Stuart  had  not  interrupted  him. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell  about  Zoe's  visit  to 
New  York  without  a  good  deal  of  glossing  over;  and 
even  with  a  gloss,  Jim's  attitude  then  would  never  have 
met  with  Stuart's  approval.  "It  must  be  all  or  nothing 
between  us  now,  Zoe."  Jim's  mouth  went  wry  when 
he  thought  of  it.  Surely,  surely  he  had  been  as  right 
as  one  can  be  in  things  human ;  he  had  been  right  at  cost 
to  himself.  But  not  to  himself  alone;  that  was  the  hor- 
ror of  these  things.  Look  at  the  results  of  his  conscien- 
tious self-denial — look — look — He  couldn't  have  gone 
on  to  the  end. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  of  a  fine  fall  morning  when  Jim 
finally  slept,  lying  down  just  as  he  was  on  the  outside  of 
his  bed.  Only  when  he  was  asleep  did  Stuart  leave  him, 
and  go  to  face  a  sleepy  and  perhaps  righteously  indig- 
nant June. 

The  two  men  met  at  a  late  Sunday  breakfast,  both 
appearing  quite  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  They  had 
to  contrive  to  appear  like  that,  if  they  were  to  continue 
to  meet. 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

The  day  went  by  just  as  Jim  and  June  had  planned 
it,  and  just  as  successfully  as  had  the  Saturday.  Two 
of  the  guests  left  for  home  that  night.  "You  are  stay- 
ing until  to-morrow,  of  course?"  Jim  asked  casually  of 
Stuart. 

"Oh,  yes!"  answered  Stuart. 

"I  am  moving  into  town  myself  to-morrow,  I  think. 
This  is  really  rather  too  far  to  come  in  winter.  There 
are  some  advantages  about  my  flat,  anyway,"  said  Jim. 

"Can  I  help  you  pack?"  asked  his  friend. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you.  I  am  taking  nothing  but  my 
clothes  with  me.  Shall  you  come  in  to  talk  to  me  to- 
night?" 

"If  I  shan't  be  in  the  way  of  your  packing." 

"Not  at  all.    I  want  you  to  come,"  Jim  assured  him. 

They  sat  together  for  an  hour  that  night,  and  talked 
careful  impersonalities.  Once  only  Jim  thrust  down 
to  bed-rock;  and  then  it  was  only  to  hint,  "Could  I  do 
anything,  do  you  suppose,  if  I  went  over  there?" 

Stuart  understood,  and  shook  his  head.  "She  must 
be  left  to  do  for  herself.  She  can't  sink  or  swim  by  your 
help." 

They  went  back  to  other  themes;  they  both  went  to 
bed  at  an  hour  which  was  not  unreasonable.  On  Mon- 
day morning  Jim  packed,  dismissed  his  careful  negroes, 
and  locked  the  door  of  his  deserted  house.  Once  more 
things  had  closed  down  on  him;  once  more  he  took 
refuge  in  the  round  of  every  day. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
TIME'S  R£V£NG£S 

IT  was  not  only  that  he  gave  himself  no  time  to  think : 
during  those  next  few  months  Jim  tried  to  get  as 
far  as  possible  out  of  the  habit  of  thinking.  His  think- 
ing wouldn't  be  fruitful;  and  where  was  the  good  of 
simply  tormenting  himself?  He  felt  that  this  was  the 
last  stage  of  cynical  weariness,  this  going  softly  to  avoid 
any  possible  jolt  that  might  call  up  the  bitter  unforget- 
table, this  drugging  one's  soul  for  the  sake  of  peace. 
But  it  was  what  we  all  came  to ;  and  after  all  he  did  not 
feel  especially  cynical,  and  he  was  no  wearier  than  he 
had  been  for  a  very  long  time. 

One  night  late  in  the  winter  he  sat  alone  in  his  flat. 
Roy  Whittaker  had  been  coming  to  spend  the  evening 
with  him;  but  it  had  begun  to  snow,  a  clinging  damp 
snow  that  might  later  change  to  rain,  and  Roy,  who 
deferred  to  weather,  had  not  appeared.  So  Jim  had 
lighted  his  cheerful  little  fire,  and  had  stretched  himself 
before  it  with  his  book.  He  always  made  a  point  nowa- 
days of  having  something  "interesting"  to  read,  and  of 
being  interested  in  it :  it  was  not  safe,  perhaps,  to  let  his 
attention  wander. 

While  he  lay  there  reading,  in  the  same  room  and  the 
same  attitude  as  he  had  lain  that  night  when  he  came 
home  after  his  first  meeting  with  Zoe  Lenox,  he  might 
have  struck  a  casual  observer  as  looking  very  much  the 
same.  His  hair  was  beginning  to  show  a  little  grey,  and 

325 


326  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

about  his  mouth  and  eyes  were  tired  lines  that  had  not 
been  there  a  year  before.  He  was  thinner  and  graver 
than  he  had  once  been.  But  all  the  rending  and  wither- 
ing of  which  he  had  been  so  keenly  conscious  had  not 
perceptibly  overlaid  the  natural  man:  to  any  of  his 
friends,  he  was  still  the  same  Jirn  Whittaker,  kindly, 
staunch,  a  little  romantic,  essentially  sound. 

He  had  read,  somewhat  doggedly  although  with  no 
very  terrible  strain,  for  some  two  hours,  when  he  was 
startled  by  a  ring  at  his  door-bell.  It  might  be  Roy, 
though  it  was  curious  if  Roy  would  miss  the  earlier 
part  of  the  evening,  and  then  arrive  just  at  bed-time. 
Beside,  it  was  not  Roy's  ring.  Smiling  at  himself,  be- 
cause he  was  still  young  enough  to  expect  to  see  his  des- 
tiny walk  in  every  time  there  was  a  strange  ring  at  his 
door-bell,  Jim  went  to  answer.  It  was  probably  the 
janitor,  or  some  late-coming  casual  friend  who  had  no- 
ticed his  light. 

He  flung  open  the  door  to  greet  such  a  one;  but  his 
visitor  chanced  to  be  a  woman.  In  the  dim  discreet 
light  of  the  hall  Jim  saw  that  she  was  a  tall  woman, 
dressed  in  black;  and  she  must  have  come  on  foot,  for 
her  hat  and  the  shoulders  of  her  fur  coat  were  thickly 
powdered  with  snow.  It  was  strange  that  after  all 
these  months  he  should  be  always  reminded  of  what  he 
was  trying  to  forget;  yet  just  because  this  woman  was 
tall  she  made  him  think  of  Zoe.  Only  Zoe  never  wors 
black,  and  never  drooped  as  she  stood;  and  Zoe  never, 
never  would  come  to  him  like  this.  This  was  some  one 
looking  for  another  flat.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  began 
Jim.  "Did  you  wish " 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  through  her 
veil.  Then  in  spite  of  the  veil  and  the  dimness,  he  knew 
her.  His  heart  seemed  to  rise  in  his  throat  and  stifle 


TIME'S  REVENGES  327 

him;  his  mind  was  blank,  unable  to  contend  with  the 
fact  thus  presented  to  it. 

Fortunately  the  habits  of  a  civilised  man  came  to  his 
aid.  He  stepped  back  and  held  the  door  for  her.  "Come 
in,  Zoe,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't  see  you  very  plainly  at 
first." 

She  came  in,  and  stood  quietly  beside  him.  "In  this 
way,"  he  said.  "I've  been  alone  all  the  evening.  I " 

Still  he  couldn't  cope  with  the  fact  of  her  presence. 
He  put  out  his  hand  toward  her,  and  it  encountered  wet 
fur.  "Bless  me,  how  wet  you  are!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Here,  let  me  take  your  coat." 

She  spoke  then,  like  one  in  a  dream.  "Yes.  Yes,  I 
am  wet,"  she  said. 

She  pushed  up  her  veil  and  looked  at  him,  fixedly, 
dully,  as  if  she  couldn't  quite  believe  her  eyes.  Jim 
rallied  to  a  certain  briskness.  He  took  her  coat  and 
hung  it  up,  took  her  hat  and  veil,  the  damp  chiffon 
clinging  clammily  to  his  fingers.  He  placed  a  chair  for 
her  before  the  fire.  "Sit  down  here,"  he  commanded. 
He  stooped  to  lay  a  hand  on  her  skirts.  "Heavens,  how 
wet  you  are!"  he  repeated.  "Couldn't  you  find  a  taxi- 
cab,  on  a  night  like  this?" 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  the  cushions  of  the  chair- 
back.  "I  came  up  in  one,"  she  said  dully.  "I've  been 
walking  around  outside  for  a  long  time,  though." 

"Outside?  Outside  here?"  he  asked  in  amazement. 
"Why,  whatever  made  you  do  that,  Zoe?" 

"I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  wanted  to  see  you  alone.  I 
wasn't  sure " 

"I've  been  alone  all  the  evening,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"You  could  have  telephoned  to  find  out,  you  know.  Of 
course  I  could  have  come  to  you,  wherever  you  were 
staying.  But  it's  awfully  fine  of  you  to  come  to  me 


328  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

like  this.  Only  you  shouldn't  have  hesitated,  especially 
on  such  a  nasty  night." 

"No,  I  shouldn't  have  hesitated,"  she  said.  "I 
shouldn't  ever  have  hesitated." 

She  lay  in  his  big  chair,  relaxed  and  utterly  weary. 
Against  the  dark  cushions  her  profile  was  startlingly 
clear.  She  was  dressed  all  in  black,  perhaps  with  some 
vague  penitential  idea;  but  the  habit  of  years  had  made 
her  see  to  it  that  her  penitence  was  expressed  very  be- 
comingly. It  was  unconscious  habit,  though;  there  was 
no  thought  of  effect  in  anything  she  did  to-night.  Never, 
Jim  thought,  had  he  seen  a  human  being  so  utterly  down. 
And  to  think  that  this  was  Zoe,  the  conquering  and 
radiant  one.  His  heart  yearned  over  her;  he  wanted 
to  take  her  loneliness  and  weariness  to  his  arms.  That 
was,  of  course,  precisely  the  thing  which  under  the  cir- 
cumstances he  would  not  do.  He  chose  the  cheerful  tone 
of  every  day.  "Now  'that  you  are  here,  I  mustn't  let 
you  perish,"  he  said.  "Let  me  see.  Here,  you'd  better 
drink  this." 

She  put  her  hand  out  obediently  for  the  glass. 
"Brandy,"  he  explained.  "It  isn't  nice,  but  it  will  do 
you  good." 

Zoe  drank  half,  hesitated,  caught  his  eye,  and  drained 
the  glass.  "That's  good,"  said  Jim  approvingly.  He 
knelt  beside  her,  and  began  to  unbutton  her  wet  shoes. 
"It's  easy  to  see  that  you  belong  to  the  carriage  class  of 
society,"  he  said.  "You  don't  own  a  pair  of  overshoes, 
I  suppose,  Zoe." 

He  fetched  a  pair  of  slippers  from  his  room,  and  put 
them  on  her ;  he  laughed  to  see  how  they  flapped  on  her 
slim  high-arched  feet.  She  looked  to  see  what  he  was 
laughing  at;  and  she,  too,  smiled  faintly.  Then,  when 
he  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  do  for  her,  Jim  caught 


TIME'S  REVENGES  339 

her  hand  and  kissed  it.  Still  holding  it  in  his,  he  sat 
down  on  the  floor  beside  her.  When  presently  her  fin- 
gers returned  his  pressure,  he  kissed  her  hand  again, 
and  was  idiotically  happy  simply  to  sit  so. 

"You  are  glad  to  see  me,  Jim  ?"  she  asked  after  a  long 
time. 

"Glad,  honey." 

There  was  another  pause;  then  she  said,  "I've  come 
a  long  way  to  see  you,  you  know." 

"So  you  have,  honey." 

"You're  sure  you're  glad  to  have  me  here?" 

"So  glad  that  I  don't  want  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
until  you've  rested  a  little,"  he  said  quickly. 

"I'm  resting  now,  Jim." 

"Yes." 

"Yes— what?" 

"Yes,  Zoe,"  he  corrected  himself. 

"No.    What  you  said  before." 

"Yes— honey?" 

"Yes."  She  smiled  at  the  queerness  of  the  word,  and 
at  his  queerness  and  her  own;  and  then  once  more  she 
lay  quiet. 

Many  minutes  went  by  in  silence ;  then  Jim  could  feel 
her  shudder.  She  drew  away  the  hand  that  he  held, 
and  sat  up  in  her  chair.  "Now  I'm  ready  to  talk  to 
you,  Jim,"  she  said. 

Jim  went  to  lay  more  fuel  on  the  fire;  then  he  stood 
before  it  and  looked  down  at  her.  "Yes?"  he  said  en- 
couragingly. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  seem  to  find  it  easy  to  be- 
gin. Yet  perhaps  she  was  beginning,  as  she  sat  there 
and  simply  looked  at  him.  Now  as  always  her  beauty 
soothed  and  uplifted  him;  but  in  her  weariness  and  her 
strange  simplicity  he  saw  that  she  had  dissociated  her- 


330  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

self  from  her  beauty,  had  tried  to  cast  loose  from  her  all- 
pervading  ideal  of  herself.  She  had  endeavoured  to 
come  to  him  in  straitness  of  spirit;  and  she  had  almost 
succeeded  in  her  endeavour. 

He  let  her  go  on  to  speech,  to  make  whole  her  under- 
taking. And  she  presently  found  words,  words  of  the 
simplest.  "Do  you  know  why  I  have  come  here  to  see 
you,  Jim  ?" 

"Tell  me  why,"  he  urged. 

"I  have  come  to  marry  you,"  she  said  with  her  fine 
simplicity,  and  then  added,  faltering,  "That  is,  if  you 
still  want  me." 

"I  still  want  you,  Zoe.  I  want  you  more  than  ever," 
he  said.  He  was  gratified  at  the  warmth  of  his  own 
tone.  And  then  so  impulsively  that  he  startled  himself, 
he  demanded,  "When  will  you  marry  me?" 

"Whenever  you  like,"  she  said. 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  urged  Jim. 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  she  agreed.  "To-morrow, 
if  you  like.  Or  is  that  too  soon ?" 

"It's  not  too  soon,  if  you  mean  it." 

"It  can  be  done,  Jim?" 

"I  think  these  things  can  be  done  at  very  short  notice, 
if  one  knows  how.  To-morrow  it  shall  be,"  he  said. 

"I'd  rather  it  were  to-morrow,"  she  began  hurriedly 
to  explain.  "I've  given  in,  you  know,  just  as  you  said 
I  would.  I  want  to  marry  you,  Jim;  but  I  don't  trust 
myself.  If  you  really  want  me,  you'd  better  not  give  me 
any  chance  to  change  my  mind  again." 

"I  should  say  not!"  he  ejaculated.  "If  you  think  I'm 
going  to  let  you  run  off  to  the  world's  end  again,  or  even 
think  about  running  off,  after  you've  so  wonderfully 
come  here " 

"There's  nothing  wonderful  about  it,"  she  said.    "It 


TIME'S  REVENGES  331 

had  to  be:  that's  all.  Only  keep  me,  now  that  I  am 
here." 

"I'll  keep  you — endlessly — Zoe." 

"I  knew  that  you  would,  even  if  you  only  half  cared 
to.  Jim,  you  understand  that  since  those  days  in  the 

Helga — even  since  the  last  time  I  saw  you — I  have 

But  there's  no  need  to  tell  you.  You  understand  every- 
thing." 

"I  understand  that.  I  don't  mind,  dear;  it  had  to 
come." 

"Yes.  I  suppose  so."  She  lay  back  again,  and  her 
eyes  closed. 

A  clock  struck  the  hour,  waking  Jim  to  his  responsi- 
bilities. She  could  not  sit  here  like  this  all  night.  He 
stooped  over  her,  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet.  Her  eyes 
opened  then,  and  her  pale  face  was  suddenly  flooded 
with  colour.  "I  might  have  come  to  you  like  a  queen  in 
her  glory,"  she  whispered.  "Instead  I  have  waited  until 
I  had  to  come  like  this." 

"But  you  have  come,"  he  whispered  back.  "We  won't 
look  beyond  that:  you  have  come." 

Should  he  always,  he  wondered,  be  shortening  her 
view  for  her,  sweetening  her  remorse,  explaining  away 
her  appreciation  of  her  own  mistakes?  He  looked  at 
the  golden  head  lying  so  quietly  on  his  shoulder;  and 
for  a  moment  it  was  bitter  to  him  too  that  she  hadn't 
come  to  him  "like  a  queen  in  her  glory."  But  the  bit- 
terness didn't  last.  She  would  be  punished  all  her  life 
long,  he  felt,  for  not  having  taken  things  in  their  fresh- 
ness; and  he  was  only  glad  that  he  should  be  always 
there  to  lighten  her  punishment  a  little. 

Suddenly  her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck,  and  she 
began  to  sob.  "Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  Zoe,  honey," 


THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

Jim  said  quickly.     "You  do  love  me?     Then  tell  me 
you  do." 

She  nodded,  catching  her  breath  like  a  frightened 
child.  "That's  what  I  wanted  to  know,"  he  went  on. 
"That's  what  matters,  and  it's  all  that  matters." 

Something  came  fluttering  to  him  from  the  past;  he 
seized  it  and  gave  it  to  her  for  her  salvation.  "Love 
may  devour,"  he  told  her.  "But  the  very  love  that  de- 
vours can  in  the  end  make  whole.  It  can,  it  can,  Zoe." 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his,  and  kissed  him  on  the  lips. 
"If  you  tell  me  so,  I  can  believe  even  that,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

He  let  her  go  presently.  "It's  midnight,"  he  said. 
"Time  for  to-morrow's  brides  to  be  asleep.  Shall  I  take 
you  back  to  your  hotel  now  ?" 

She  looked  a  little  frightened.  "Must  you?"  she 
asked.  "I — I  don't  want  to  be  left  alone,  Jim." 

"Perhaps  now  that  I've  got  you  I'd  better  keep  you,", 
he  said,  catching  her  idea.  "You  might  run  away  even 
now  if  I  gave  you  the  chance,  mightn't  you?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,  Jim.     Might  I — can  I  stay  here?" 

"Yes,  I  think  you  can.  Yes,  you  can,  of  course. 
There  isn't  any  one  who  will  be  worried  if  you  don't 
appear?" 

"No  one  in  the  wide  world,  Jim,  to  worry  over  me." 

"Except  me,"  said  Jim  promptly.  "And  I'm  going 
to  keep  you  so  close  that  I  won't  have  to  worry  over 
you." 

He  got  her  a  warm  dressing-gown,  turned  down  his 
bed,  adjusted  the  night-light.  "Make  yourself  as  com- 
fortable as  you  can,  dear,"  he  said.  "I  shall  spend  the 
rest  of  the  night  by  the  fire,  I  think,  because  I  must  be 
stirring  early.  I  shall  have  so  much  to  see  to,  you  know. 
You  can  call  me  if  you  want  anything." 


TIME'S  REVENGES  333 

"Yes,  Jim,"  she  said.  "Good-night."  She  put  up 
her  face  for  his  good-night  kiss. 

"Get  a  good  sleep,"  he  admonished  her.  "I'll  call  you 
when  it's  time  for  you  to  dress." 

She  vanished  into  the  bedroom.  Jim  gave  a  long 
look  around,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  what  had 
just  happened.  One  of  Zoe's  shoes  had  got  too  near 
the  fire;  he  went  over  and  carefully  altered  the  position 
of  both.  Then  he  turned  off  the  lights,  and  went  and 
sat  down  at  the  window. 

Once  during  the  night  he  rose  to  replenish  his  little 
fire :  they  allowed  the  steam  to  go  down  toward  morning, 
and  anyhow  the  fire  was  like  a  friend  in  the  dim  room. 
Once  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  bedroom  and  listened 
to  Zoe's  quiet  breathing,  as  she  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
utterly  weary. 

Then  he  sat  down  again  with  folded  arms,  and  waited 
for  the  dawn  of  a  new  day.  It  was  to  usher  in  a  new 
life  for  him:  not  just  the  life  he  had  planned,  but  cer- 
tainly a  life  which  would  call  out  all  that  was  in  him. 
He  kept  vigil  here,  and  felt  that  it  was  fitting  he  should. 
But  he  could  not  have  slept  to-night  if  he  had  tried. 
The  haunting  past,  the  unguessed  future,  the  ghostly 
shapes  of  what  might  have  been,  all  were  here  to  keep 
him  company. 

And  here,  too,  with  him  was  the  love  of  which  he  had 
spoken  to  Zoe :  the  love  which  may  devour  in  the  be- 
ginning, but  which  makes  whole  again  in  the  end.  A 
brave  saying:  would  it  be  fulfilled  in  and  by  them?  It 
would,  if  his  determination  had  power  to  fulfil  it.  She 
might  have  come  to  him  in  her  glory;  but  at  least  she 
had  found  strength  to  come.  And  as  he  waited  for  the 
dawn  of  his  wedding  day,  his  fingers  found  and  stroked 


334  THE  VANISHED  HELGA 

the   fading  scar  upon  his  wrist,   almost  vanished  me- 
morial of  an  earlier  and  perhaps  a  happier  bridal. 

But  his  thoughts  drove  resolutely  ahead  to  what  was 
to  be;  and  he  felt  a  boy's  impatience  when  he  reflected 
that  no  farther  ahead  than  to-morrow,  or  perhaps  to- 
day, or  next  week  at  the  farthest — but  next  week  was 
too  far — he  and  his  beloved  should  enter  together  his 
house  upon  a  hill. 


A     000  051  876     1 


NAMJS 


-B. 


